Once a Thief
by lookskindagreyout
Summary: How bad can things get, when the right way of things, the law, gets in the way of morality? The Fringe team finds itself split on the sides of good and evil. PxO, WxA lightly .
1. Chapter 1

ummmm...

not much going, with this one. I just really felt like writing something like it... without anything particularly clever about it. I always wondered what it would be like if the Bishop boys went bad...

*I do not own Fringe. But if I did, I would make John Noble do a jig._ Right now._

Chapter I

The exterior security cameras saw only a sleek, black Plymouth Viper pull to an elegant halt on the curb, the purring engine coming to a soft halt. Then, the picture and sound were static.

"Are they out, Walter?"

"These things are never exact, and I can't know until I get into the system. See through their eyes, so to speak."

"I need to know, and soon. We don't have leisure time, tonight," Peter glanced cautiously out of the darkly tinted windows and windshield.

"Oh, do, pardon me," Walter snapped, "I was under the impression we were on _holiday_." He pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose, his fingers flying over the keyboard of the laptop to strike the keys with a small, sharp snapping noises, "Would _you_ like to take a crack at this?"

Peter sighed patiently, "No, Walter."

"Then be quiet and let me get on with it," He grimaced at the glowing screen, the blue light darkening the hard line of his mouth, "_shatter_," he muttered under his breath, "I'm in."

"Good. Are you-"

"Yes, they're off, you _demanding_ little peacock," Walter snapped the laptop shut, pulling off his glasses and slipping them into the inside pocket of his jacket. He pushed the laptop into his black canvas side bag. He was frowning again, plucking at his clothes, "all black, Peter? It's ridiculously cliché…"

Peter frowned, "What is with you, anyways? You've been snappy all night."

Walter slipped a pistol into the holster in his armpit, "Oh, I'm wonderful. Committing grand theft to the tune of an egg timer…I couldn't think of a better use for my Tuesday night, could you?"

Peter smirked, "Fine, don't tell me." he kicked open his door and stepped out, "We've got this one figured about the same as the last ones, we just need to hurry."

Walter did not reply as they approached the glass doors of Massive Dynamic.

Peter sighed, "Fine. How about takeout, after this?"

Walter brightened considerably, "You mean it?"

Peter swiped a duct-tapped security pass, and the doors slid open, "Sure. Now, you're sure the lab systems are off line?"

Walter nodded, stopping to examine a map of the building layout posted in a large plastic display in the lobby, "It should be here," he pointed, "labeled under 'executive storage', in the basement. At least, that's what I could hack out of the FBI database. A bunch of useless drabble, the other bits of coding. What does 'executive storage' even mean, Peter?"

"Don't know. Let's get going."

"We're going to need the system tapes for the safe, aren't we?" Walter said as they stepped into the elevator, and Peter swiped the pass again, requesting access to 'executive storage'. Walter reached past him, dialing in the pass code, and scanning his own thumb. The light on the consol turned green, and the doors shut.

"We'll deal with the safe later. We've got plenty of money, for now." They stood in silence a few moments, listening to the muffled sound of soft rock in the speakers, "Ready?" Peter questioned, checking the clip of his nine-millimeter.

Shrugging, Walter drew his own gun, pulling a surgical mask over his mouth, obscuring the lower half of his face, "As ready as one can be, burgling top-secret information."

Peter pulled on his own mask without comment.

The doors slid open, and the Bishops ducked to either side, taking cover from the bullets that splintered the mahogany paneling on the back of the elevator. They took aim, silenced bullets striking their marks on each of the security personnel, rendering them incapacitated. After a brief bit of chasing, Peter managed to shoot the last of the offence in the chest. Walter stilled him, shaking his head, "Not the chest," he murmured, "aim for the limbs."

"Sorry," Peter replied quickly.

Walter used a portable drill to dismantle the door lock of the lab, jacking it into the laptop on his hip. He typed in a command, and the door crackled with electricity, and went dead. Peter pulled it open effortlessly, entering with his gun ready.

"Go for the interface," he told Walter quietly, "I'll keep an eye out." Walter nodded, starting past him, and Peter grabbed his shoulder, "_Don't get distracted._ I know there's a lot of shiny surgical crap in here, but stay focused."

"I'll try," Walter replied wryly, scurrying away.

Peter moved in the opposite direction, keeping low, close to the walls. His eyes spanned the open operating theater before him, and he gritted his teeth in disgust, "Chest butchers," He growled, passing the bodies filleted open, hooked to countless machines to keep them alive, like bastard depictions of the crucifixion.

In the other wing of the lab, Walter was singing softly under his breath, as he pried off the face panel of the super-computer, "_They may say some awful things, but there's no point in listening_…"

He drew out a small welding torch from his bag, pushing a pair of sunglasses onto his nose as he lit the torch, setting to work against the steel barrier that protected the circuitry from harsh outside tampering, and continuing with his melody, "_Your words are the only words…that I believe in afterwards…"_

He was careful as he pried away the small rectangle of hot metal, setting it aside as he pulled off his gloves, reaching into the square hole to grab a fistful of wires and pull them into the light, "_you should know, it's true, just now, the part about my love, for you…"_

_"…And how my heart's about to burst into… a thousand pieces…" _He carefully selected the light blue wire, ripping it loose and stripping it with his teeth. He twisted it into an interface, and plugged the newly created plug into the side of his laptop. The screen blinked, the security firewall code popping up, "Peter!" Walter called, "I'm in!"

"Wonderful," came Peter's distant call.

Walter ignored the response, returning to his task of cracking the mathematical system, "_so it must be true, and they'll believe us too soon…"_

Peter crept between the long, stainless steel tables, his curiosity and concern growing with each step. It was too quiet…too easy…

He took cover as shots rang out, and his eyes widened as he heard the soft _thunk_! of a flash-bang striking the linoleum tiles and rolling to a halt. Peter threw himself flat on the floor, covering his head with his arms and plugging his ears. There was a muffled explosion, and he rose to his feet, debris raining down on him. He slammed a full clip into his gun, "Walter!" he roared, "Company!"

Biting the inside of his cheek, Walter glared at the screen in his lap, as he sang louder to focus himself, "_Baby it's fact! Our love is true! The way black is black!_" his fingers were trembling as he heard the crack of weapons' fire, "_And blue is just blue_…" he hissed under his breath.

Peter fired off three rounds at the entering SWAT team, running low along the counter as bullets rang off the walls. He rolled across the aisle to the next gurney, making for the open doorway of the database.

Walter turned, aiming for his son. Then, he returned to gun to his holster, scrambling for the codes. The screen whirred, and shown the message _access granted._ Walter rubbed his palms together with a soft chuckle.

"We've got to get out of here!" Peter cried, taking cover beside the door, "It's the _feds_, Walter!"

Walter looked up with alarm, "Just-just a few more moments!" he insisted, "It's nearly complete-"

"_Now, _Walter!" Peter pulled the plug from the computer, leaving it dangling as the Bishops fled for the fire exit.

"Do you think it's her, Peter?" Walter whispered breathlessly as they sprinted up the stairs.

"I don't know! Just go!"

"She'll catch us, you know…" Walter slung the laptop case onto his back as Peter shot the lock from the exterior door, kicking it open. A spotlight suddenly blinded them, and Walter sucked air through his teeth, "If she hasn't already…"

"Shut up!" Peter snapped, looking around in desperate need of an escape.

"But prison is a cakewalk, compared to the asylum…" Walter paused, "Say, I know we're having takeout, but could I get cake, too? Chocolate, please."

"I've got an idea," Peter said, shutting the door, "you said there was a sub-floor above the lab, right?"

"Presumably. It's not on the map in the lobby, though."

Peter nodded, "Follow me."

Moments later found them in the service elevator, moving slowly toward the custodial section of the ground floor, Walter somehow relating chocolate cake to the situation while Peter ignored him, silently plotting his next move of escape.

The mesh doors slid open, and they sprinted down the hall, pushing out of the double doors and into the night air. At last they found themselves back in the Viper, speeding away from the building and toward the freeway. Walter managed to scramble the police radios in the area, and after another bit of typing, sat back, crossing his arms behind his head, "Well, my boy," he grinned, "How does it feel to be twenty million dollars richer?"

Peter laughed triumphantly, "Not bad, for a nights' work, eh?"

xXx


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter II

"God Damn it." Olivia Dunham slammed her black combat helmet onto the desktop, "God damn it."

Charlie Francis frowned with worry, "Don't go beating yourself up yet, Liv. We haven't cleared the building yet, they could still be here…" But Olivia was shaking her head, pulling the tie from her hair to let it fall loose over her armored shoulders.

"If we haven't got them by now, they're gone," she said bitterly, dropping her combat shotgun next to her helmet and flopping into the office chair with a sigh, "We weren't fast enough, Charlie. We never are."

"With all due respect, I wouldn't say that this was such an unexpected move, on the parts of the Bishops," Charlie replied, rubbing an eye tiredly, "I mean, think about it- Walter Bishop is sent to the asylum by his former lab mate, who then proceeds to make millions off research he stole. It was only a matter of time before they got around to revenge."

"You don't know Walter," Olivia said, "He's not like that. I don't think he even cared about Belle's good fortune."

Charlie was silent for a few moments, gathering the courage to ask, "What about Peter Bishop?"

Olivia looked up at him sharply, before calming herself, "Yeah, I guess you're right. He had the connections, the access to the information… provided generously by the US government…" her fuming was suddenly interrupted by the chiming of her cell phone, "Dunham," she growled.

Several floors below, Astrid Farnsworth was kneeling to examine the hastily-rigged jack, hanging from a mass of tangled wires, "Olivia, it's Astrid. It's the same as the other times- physical intrusion, then firewall hacking like only yours truly can do… the firewalls aren't remotely repairable. Then the information was downloaded into an external drive… judging by the trace components, I'd say it's been tweaked to a bigger capacity-"

"Enough of your technical hacker crap," Olivia growled, "Is it gone?"

Astrid nodded to herself, rising to place a hand on her hip, "The database has been wiped clean. The system is dead."

Olivia sighed, "Alright. Get back up here, there's nothing else you can do. I'll tell Broyals-"

"Agent Dunham," came a soft, quiet voice, and she looked up to see the form of Nina Sharpe in the doorway, "Still chasing your disobedient wards? I hope they haven't done anything drastic to my organization, or I may have to take it up with your superiors."

"Get up here, Astrid," Olivia said, and snapped the phone shut. She rose, "Peter and Walter Bishop have yet to be apprehended, and when they are, I assure you, your system will be restored."

Sharpe shook her head, laughing softly, "You're still think of them as rational individuals, agent Dunham. You keep forgetting that we are dealing with two _criminals_, now."

"Peter and Walter may be our opposition, Miss Sharpe, but they are far from stupid," Olivia replied evenly, "Astrid says there is evidence that your information has been loaded onto something, before being deleted. I have no doubt that they saved your information."

"Oh, I have no doubt they did," Sharpe agreed, "I assume it would fetch quite a price, in the underground. They are thieves and traitors, agent Dunham."

"Dunham," Philip Broyals interrupted before Olivia could reply, "This matter no longer concerns you. I want you to take Charlie and Astrid back to headquarters and monitor the situation," he glanced at Sharpe darkly, "Leave the… _cooperate puppeteering _to me."

"Watch yourself, Broyals," Sharpe murmured with a dark smile, "Let's not forget that it was you that set these maniacs loose, with the aid of Federal secrets, I might add. Massive Dynamic is now a victim of your top-secret whims."

xXx

It had only been three months since Peter and Walter had disappeared. One morning, Olivia had gone to their hotel room, only to find they had checked out the previous night. Only a few days after that, a leading pharmaceutical company had been stricken with the crippling loss of their database. Forensics had only proven the unthinkable- Peter and Walter Bishop were at fault. Company after company had been stripped of their datum, and each time, the Bishops had been placed at the scene. It wasn't long before other concerned corporations began to question the origin of these attacks, and Broyals had pulled some strings, landing the investigation in his own hands. It was now up to them to hunt their own.

Olivia felt numb. The sudden betrayal of Peter seemed to shake her composure completely, the situation painfully echoing the loss of John…

It felt as if the knife had been twisted.

The car ride back to headquarters had been silent, until Astrid finally asked, "…did you see them?"

Olivia, her lips a hard line of distaste, nodded.

"So you're sure it was them? How do you know?"

"It was _them_ Astrid. They wore black, and I knew Peter's eyes… and I aimed for his chest."

Astrid looked unhappy, as she looked over at her, the lights of the passing street lights flashing from her dark irises, "…and Walter?" she asked quietly.

"He was singing."

Astrid gave a small, melancholy laugh, and Olivia spared her a small, remorseful smile. Astrid sobered, "We'll catch them Olivia. I don't know why they're doing this, but… when we catch them, we'll find out. They couldn't have-"

"Couldn't have what? Couldn't have gone out for themselves, abandoned all sense of obligation and reason?" Olivia snorted bitterly, "I know what they're doing, Astrid. The Pattern is of no importance, anymore. They don't care that people are dying, and…"she bit the inside of her cheek, "It's just greed, Astrid. Nothing more. There's no chivalrous motive involved."

"And when were you the one to stop questioning people?" Astrid retorted, "I don't know about you, but I'm not giving up on them. There has to be a reason- and, good or bad, I'm going to find out what it is."

Olivia was painfully reminded of her determination to investigate her partners' death. She said nothing, knowing that any attempts to avert Astrid's attempts would be futile. There was silence in the car.

"I miss them, too," Olivia said at last.

xXx


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter III

"Peter Rook," Peter said quietly, slipping three hundred dollars into the doorman's sleeve, "I have a table reserved."

The doorman glanced down at the blank clipboard before himself, then over Peter's shoulder, "And _him_?" he questioned, nodding to Walter, whom looked horribly out of place in the nightclub scene.

"He's with me," Peter answered.

The doorman raised his eyebrows, and returned his attention to Walter with a smile. Walter seemed confused.

"He's my dad," Peter growled, agitated. He grabbed Walter's shoulder, and pushed him into the club, plunging them into a dark world of loud, pounding music and substance abuse.

A huge man in a black suit greeted them, "Mr. Rook," he said, stooping his head slightly with respect, "Raze has been expecting you. This way." and he lead them past the dance floor, where a faceless mass seemed to sway and jump in a feverish trance to the painfully loud music, the white flashes of a strobe light thinning their limbs unnaturally and making them appear as near specters. Peter and Walter followed the huge man to a side door, and up a flight of stairs, before arriving in a nearly silent lobby. Their ears slowly recovering from the downstairs cacophony, they began to hear a faint piano melody.

"Raze will be waiting in the office," the stranger stepped aside, allowing for Peter to pass into the office.

Peter paused, stilling Walter with a palm to the chest, "Wait here," he said quietly.

Looking further confused, Walter was left standing in the lobby, his worried face being the last thing Peter saw as he shut the door.

Peter turned to the large desk before him, were a tiny figure sat, cross legged, in the high-backed office chair, grinning widely, "Mr. Rook. It is nice to see you well."

Raze was a about the size of a child, but his large, dark-rimmed eyes hinted at cruelty and brilliance far older than his youthful appearance. Peter had yet to decide if Raze were male or female, as he held a boy's shape, but long, auburn tresses, and Peter referred to him as male, as it seemed natural. Raze had not corrected him. Raze often wore a young boys' school uniform to catch the unwary off-guard, but Peter appeared unaffected.

"Raze," Peter agreed gruffly.

Raze smiled again, uncrossing his legs and dropping from his seat to move to Peter. He threw his arms around Peter's waist, "I was worried about you." his soft voice was hinted with an accent Peter had long ago placed as German.

"Don't play games with me tonight, Raze," Peter warned, "I went through hell to get this, and I don't have time for it."

Raze frowned innocently, "You're tired, aren't you? Please, have a seat," he took his hand, leading him to a low seat by the window, looking down on the club. They sat as Raze continued, "I heard about Massive Dynamic. Some terrible trouble, there, I'm afraid. You weren't hurt, were you?"

"No," Peter answered. They were silent for a few moments, and Raze at last crawled in Peter's lap, resting his cheek on his chest, "Raze, the data isn't complete."

Raze looked up at him sharply, his pale eyes flashing in warning, "I thought we weren't playing games," He said softly.

Peter swallowed, "It isn't complete. We've reviewed it completely, and there are parts missing."

Raze climbed out of Peter's lap, his footsteps taking him back to the desk. His slight form was contorted slightly with silent anger, "I don't half-deal, Mr. Rook," he said quietly. He lifted a stuffed bear from the desk, cradling it to his chest, "…I might start to think you were stealing from me."

Peter felt the air rush from his lungs as he found himself on the floor, the huge, black-suited man pinning him in place as he struggled. Raze plunged his hand into the bear, drawing out a snub-nose revolver and aiming for Peter's temple, "Tell me you are joking. I like jokes, and I may let you live."

"We had to get out of there!" Peter hissed, grimacing with pain, "The feds were swarming the place! We got out as much as we could, and cleared the database!"

Raze's eyes widened with maddened anger, his gun arm shaking, "Incomplete data is useless to me, Mr. Rook," he said, "it holds no onus, in the underground…"

"You won't be of much use to anyone with a bullet in your brain," there was the click, and Walter trained his barrel on Raze's temple, "Let him up."

Raze muttered a curse under his breath, his gun dropping to the floor in defeat, "Let him go, Edgar," he said.

"That's a good boy," Walter smirked, as Peter pushed himself from the floor. Raze glared at them both, before swooping up his bear and plucking angrily at the stuffing.

"I can't pay you for incomplete information," he grumbled, "But I can't go without the information entirely. It's quite the predicament you've got me in. Don't be a meanie, put the gun down."

"So?" Peter said, rubbing his sore shoulder as his father holstered his firearm.

"So I'm going to give you another go. Get the rest of the information in one week, or I'll kill you both."

Peter balked, "But we cleared the database!" he exclaimed, "there's no possible way-"

"_Find a way_!" Raze snapped, glaring, "You don't think I got here because everything was tulips, do you? I don't care what you have to do, who you have to kill, just _get it_." he waved them out of his office.

"Don't worry, Peter," Walter smirked quietly, "He's just fussy because it's past his bedtime."

"I'll enjoy killing you, old man!" Raze called.

xXx

"You know," Walter was saying from his sprawled position on the sofa, his eyes gazing distantly at the muted television, "for being multi-millionaires, we certainly don't live like them." he paused to push up his eyebrows with his chopsticks. He glanced over at Peter, who read intently over the files they had just apprehended, "Peter? Are you listening?"

"What do you want, Walter?" Peter grumbled.

Walter shrugged, "I don't know. I just figured some things would change for the better, when we started doing this. Hotel rooms and a lot of thinking. I could have done this when we worked at the lab."

"What's your point?" Peter questioned, his eyes unmoving from the screen as he crunched a won-ton.

Walter was silent for a few moments, watching the television, "I miss the Vista Cruiser. I don't like the Viper, it's too showy."

"Uh-huh," Peter replied.

"I miss Gene. She was such wonderful company. Such an affectionate cow." his eyes seemed to glaze with nostalgia, "I miss the thrill of the cases, I think. Always something new to do; it was never boring, was it?"

"Nope," Peter replied.

"I miss that girl. What was her name?"

"Astrid."

"Yes. I miss her quite a lot. I wonder if she's angry with me. I'd be angry with me. What about you? What do you miss?"

"It doesn't matter, Walter!" Peter snapped, "We knew what we were getting into, when we decided to do this, okay?! What's past is past, and who cares?!"

Walter flicked a chopstick at the door, "The past keeps popping up to bite me in the ass," he murmured with a wry smile, "And yours does, too, I think. Olivia's going to catch us, you'll see."

_"Stop saying that!"_ Peter snarled, "It's not an assurance! No one can catch us, Walter, don't you understand?! Things will never be the same, alright?!"

Walter was silent, and sighed, crossing his arms behind his head to watch the ceiling.

"I miss them, too," Peter said at last.

xXx


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter IV

Hazardously blissful. That was how the past could be described. Before she was watching the man she'd fallen in love with through a rifle scope.

There hadn't been much to tell her that Peter was turning. While being an open, cheerful person, he had always been quite cryptic about his less-than-shining past. She had been ignorant enough to be fooled by his ruse- just like John.

_Wrong me once, shame on you. Wrong me twice, shame on me._

"Peter," she'd asked one morning as he and Walter entered the lab, late on a morning exactly one week before they had disappeared, "what's up? I heard Broyals called you in."

He'd given her a beaming smile to hide his dark thoughts, he always did that, "Ah, just hassling me about mine and Walter's living arrangements. Walter wants his own room, and I don't care, but Broyals says it isn't safe for him to be left on his own."

Olivia hadn't thought to check if it was a lie. She had only smiled as Walter pulled up a chair beside Astrid's desk, leaning in to murmur his greeting to her, "Wow. He's growing up and leaving the leaving the nest, now?"

Peter chuckled, "You have no freaking idea. Yesterday he _demanded _that stop and get him an Etch-E-Sketch. He played with it for about an hour, and then dismantled it to play with the aluminum powder. The old bastard would have started snorting it, if I hadn't taken it from him."

"So do you think he's ready to be out on his own?" Olivia asked.

"He said it himself- he's a grown man. Besides, it would be nice to get some sleep."

Unheeding of their gaze, Walter reached forward to Astrid's keyboard, pushing her hands aside and typing something. Astrid laughed, shoving his shoulder and returning to her work.

Olivia watched the two with a suspicious smile, "Is he… ?"

"Flirting? Yes. Creepy, isn't it? Astrid is giving Walter computer lessons, as per his request. But I'm pretty sure he's developed a bit of a crush on her."

Olivia laughed, "Poor Astrid."

Peter laughed himself, "And then some."

xXx

"I did my homework," Walter was telling Astrid, "Peter helped me a bit, but I managed to figure out most of it for myself."

"You set up an E-mail account? Very good, Walter. You're catching on pretty quick," she finished up a sentence on her report and closed the document with a quick save, "did you have any questions, about e-mail?"

Begrudgingly, Walter shook his head. Astrid smiled, "Great. Today we'll get into html security coding…"

Only minutes later, Astrid was watching with joyful amazement as Walter seemed to spit fourth website security coding like breathing, "You're really great at this, Walter!" she exclaimed.

"It's just math," he answered, "just simple equations, written out to the extent to which they are needed. But… none of them are complete," he looked up at her, "why?"

Astrid raised her eyebrows, pulling the keyboard to herself, "Because that's _my_ job. With security systems, solving the equation would mean busting the system, splitting it open like an oyster. It's my job to make sure the FBI system doesn't start hemorrhaging information, by scrambling it with bits of code and rendering the firewalls impassible."

Walter watched her typing curiously, "So… the firewall can be broken?"

"Everything can be broken, Walter. It's numbers, not concrete." she continued to patch up his attempts at bypassing the security coding on her mock website, "don't go spreading this around, but a few of my friends and I used to go around to sites and tag. That's when you bust the code and poke in a little of your own, like a signature. A friend of mine tried it in a government site, and he got trapped… the code just kept looping… the FBI busted down his door in all of about twenty seconds. I never saw him again. At that point, I decided that I needed to create firewalls to keep out hackers, so they wouldn't even try to get in." she smiled at him, "So far, I've done pretty well."

Walter seemed awed at her story, and watched her, as if absorbing the information tentatively, savoring it. At last, he said, "You went against your friends… to save them?"

Astrid shrugged a shoulder, sipping her Pepsi as she finished the coding, "I guess. It has to be _something_, the pay is crap."

"Miss. Would you… would you hate me, if I broke that code?"

Astrid looked up at him, "Walter, what are you talking about? I'd say you've got a ways to go, before making claims like that. You haven't even managed to send an e-mail with more than three words in it." she returned to her typing, "now, let me show you how to post HTML coding…"

xXx

The cold seemed to gnaw at her features, and she felt the tips of her ears and nose grow numb. Every now and again she would lift a handkerchief to her upper lip, unconsciously making sure her nose wasn't running.

Flashlights flashed in the empty parking structure, and she squinted painfully in the glare. A small blue Toyoda slowed to a halt beside her own black Ford Mustang, and the engine quit. The door opened, and Astrid stepped out, pulling her heavy coat around her shoulders, "Hey, girl!" she chirped cheerfully. And loudly, "'you ready to go?"

Someone had followed her. Olivia couldn't be sure who, but, for now, she would play it off, "Hey," Olivia replied, echoing her smile, "Yeah, let's go. It's freezing, out here."

"Thanks again for volunteering your car, this time," Astrid said, locking her car doors and tossing her keys into her purse, "Last time-" she laughed, "Well, you _know_ what happened, last time!"

Olivia laughed with her. Someone had bugged Astrid's car- switching vehicles was necessity, "Yes, how could I _forget_? You'd just better not mess up my baby- the lease is nearly up, and I want to keep her."

They got into the car and Olivia started the engine, cranking up the heater to remove the chill, "So, how's your sister? Your little niece?" Astrid reached into her bag casually, drawing out a mass of wires and speakers, controlled with a face board of pitch switches. It was her own creation, and she called it 'pest control'.

"I got a postcard just the other day. They say it's boring, in Connecticut… but really peaceful. I'm a little jealous." she followed Astrid's silent instructions to head for the tunnel, "And now, with Greg out of the picture, I think they've got a real chance."

"That's wonderful," Astrid replied, plugging her contraption into the MP3 hookup for the speakers, "It's sounds good. I could use a vacation, so could you… but, hey, what's a night out for? A week in Hawaii, one drink at a time." she switched on the stereo, and gave an exclamation, "ooh! I love this song!" she then cranked the volume, Cree Summer rushing to speakers. They entered the mouth of the tunnel, and Astrid flipped on her invention, an immense buzz rattling the car. She then turned down the radio, "Okay, if anything was in your car, it's fried. I'm sorry I had to call you out like this, Olivia, but I had to talk to you."

Olivia nodded, "I figured. But what's this all about? We're being followed," she glanced up into her rearview mirror, at the headlights of a van in the distance, "What's going on?"

"two nights ago, at Massive Dynamic… I was wrong," Astrid said.

"How do you mean?" Olivia questioned seriously.

"Well, I thought the system had been wiped clean, a blank slate, and irreparable. But I was wrong- this," Astrid pulled out a floppy disk, "Walter didn't get it all. I repaired as much of the system as I could, and I discovered that the last of the information had been left behind."

"Is it enough to get a trace?" Olivia asked, merging.

Astrid shook her head, her curls bouncing back and fourth softly, "No. I can't even get a make on the equipment, it's that bad. Olivia… I deleted the information."

Olivia nearly slammed on the breaks, "Why the hell would you do something like that?!" she demanded, "If Sharpe doesn't get Massive Dynamic's system repaired, it'll be our ass!"

"I saved only one copy. Listen to me," Astrid reasoned calmly, "This is our chance, Olivia. We can get them, Peter and Walter, we can make them tell us what's going on, what they're doing-"

"Make them repair the systems," Olivia realized, "That would save us a tremendous amount of work…"

Astrid looked uncomfortable, "I-I meant… maybe they're innocent."

Olivia gave an agitated sigh, "Astrid…" She growled.

"Just let me keep the information for a little longer, and don't put it in the report," Astrid begged, "If I get nothing, we can give it right back to Sharpe."

Olivia looked over at Astrid, wondering how such a brilliant girl could be so stupid, "Fine," she answered at last, "We've got nothing else to go on, so why the hell not?"

Astrid smiled gratefully, "Thanks, Olivia," she said. After a brief bit of consideration, she added, "You know, the last bit of the information is critical. If it is removed… all of the pieces of the puzzle won't fit."

Olivia couldn't tell what puzzle she was referring to, "Antonio's?" she questioned.

"Sure."

xXx


	5. Chapter 5

_A note of thanks, for Miss Tides, for being such a good sport. ^ ^_

Chapter V

Peter was awoken to the bright glare of sunlight on the white, stucco ceiling above the bed. He gazed at it a few moments in a numb daze, thinking of how it reminded him somehow of popcorn, before his eyes widened, and he issued a sharp curse, "Walter! Walter, damn it, wake up! We overslept!" he swept the blankets away, stumbling onto the carpet.

Walter merely moaned from his facedown position in the pillows.

"Get up," Peter said, yanking on a pair of jeans and searching around for a shirt, "We don't have time- crap, it's nearly nine! Walter!" he reached over to jab a thumb into his fathers' side.

Walter yelped with pain, contracting into a ball, "That _hurt_, you idiot! I bruise like a peach, you insensitive clod!"

"We have to get going," Peter replied, his voice muffled as he pulled on a shirt, "You've got to brush your teeth and get dressed," Peter proceeded to rush about the hotel room, gathering their belongings and stuffing them into a rucksack.

Walter rolled over and sat up, rubbing the mist from his eyes and coughing softly, "Were are we going, now?"

"Another hotel, we can set up again there. We can't stay in one place, you know that," Peter paused to consider the stubble on chin in the mirror, concluding that he might shave tomorrow, "where did you leave the system files disks?"

"Beats me," Walter replied, kicking his legs to shift the covers away from his knees, his face dim with exhaustion, "I can't even remember my own birthday. September fifth, or something."

Frowning with annoyance, Peter dropped to all fours, looking under the bed to haul out a heavy silver briefcase, "No, that's _my_ birthday. We can't loose this, Walter, it's got the shipment in it. We'd be in deep shit, alright?"

Walter smiled distantly, completely dismissing his son's previous statement, "That's right, I'd never forget your birthday. It was the best day ever."

"Yeah, hallmark moment over. Hurry up and get dressed."

Walter looked slightly hurt, then moved on to other things. He scooped up the remote on the night table and flipped on the television, pulling on his robe as his eyes roamed the brightly colored cartoon characters that bounced back and fourth on the screen. A far-away look of bliss settled on his features, a nearly mute "gee," escaping him.

Peter took the remote back, changing the channel to the news, "Hey!" Walter exclaimed.

"No. _Focus_. We don't have time, we had to check out two hours ago- they can trace us after three days or more, we're on the permanent record," and he ignored the grumbling protests as Walter shuffled off toward the bathroom. Peter continued to gather clothes from the floor, and paused to look up at the screen.

"…Massive Dynamic can no longer be suspected for the crippling losses of its competitors in the past, as we have now been targeted ourselves," Nina Sharpe was saying to the news anchor, "and the simple fact that it was even alleged in the first place is nothing short of petty."

"What's this…?" Peter questioned, turning up the volume and having a seat at the foot of the bed.

"So you deny Massive Dynamic's involvement in the current epidemic of black market trading of information?"

Nina Sharpe's smile did not falter, "Absolutely."

"And the FBI? Do they have any more leads, on this crime or any of the others?"

Sharpe blinked slowly, and replied venomously, "No. Not yet. But I'm sure that the government can assure the security of the unaffected companies at hand, and the capture and punishment of those at fault."

Peter glared at the screen, "We'll just see who innocent and who's guilty when we get the rest of your information," he hissed under his breath, "until then, you just go on playing a saint."

"_Oh Jesus_! Peter!" came Walter's squeal of horror, "_There's a spider in the bathtub_!"

xXx

"You're such a _girl_."

"Don't deride me, boy! I cried out to you for help in my moment of need, and that's no laughing matter. It's a great sign of trust," Walter replied stiffly.

"'Moment of need?' It wasn't even a _spider_. Don't worry- next bit of lint and string that comes along, I've got your back," Peter smirked, pulling gracefully into the passing lane, "I'm your rock, Walter."

"If you're going to keep mocking me, I'm not going to talk to you," Walter grumbled, turning his flushed face to the window.

Peter laughed, "I'm just screwing with you, don't sweat it. Besides, I thought it was a spider, too."

Walter brightened, "Really? It was rather convincing."

"It'd have to be, to fool you," Peter assured him. It amazed him how much his father thought of his opinion, "But we've got other things to worry about."

"Yes. Like breakfast."

"No. Like _living_. We've got to come up with something, or Raze will have us with sauerkraut." Peter sighed, "Now, I've been over it a dozen times, and the final files are scrambled, without the last part of the coding . Do you think there's a possibility, however remote, that you could rewrite some of the programming to allow access into those files?"

Walter frowned thoughtfully, "I don't much care for sauerkraut. I do, however, like pancakes. Chocolate chip, in a smiley face, with no-"

"Yes, Walter, I know how you like your pancakes. Try to focus."

"If you _know, _then take the hint and get me some. Stop at a café and I'll see what I can do with your damn coding."

xXx

"Yes, but you don't understand. He won't eat them, if they have eyebrows."

The waitress eyed Peter flatly, then turned away, carrying with her the untouched pancakes, shaking her head and sighing, "Whatever."

"I'm not the crazy one!" Peter called after her, "_He _is!"

"You just keep telling yourself that," Walter smirked from behind the screen of the laptop. White digits reflected from the lenses of his spectacles as he typed on the computer, attempting to immerse himself into the coding.

Peter scoffed, "What? And you think you're _not _crazy? You've got to be kidding me."

"Oh, I _know _I'm crazy. It's just adorable how you think you're not a figment of my imagination," Walter frowned at the screen, "I think I've got something."

"Good, good. Keep at it," Peter stirred his coffee, glancing out the window of the café. The morning outside was drab, foggy and cold, and flecks of rain showed on the glass. He glanced up as Walter gave a grunt, panic crossing his features.

"No…" Walter whispered, "No… no, no, no, no! What are you doing to me?! Stop!" he was fairly shouting at the screen, and people were staring, "Oh, god damn it, NO!"

Peter rose from his seat and moved to the other side of the booth in an attempt to calm his father, "Walter, please, people are watching. You've got to calm down, it can't be like last time…"

"STOP IT!" Walter roared at the screen, shaking the laptop to send the coffee cups crashing to the floor, "NO!"

Silence and stillness for a breathless second. Then, and electronic _beep_.

Walter hefted the laptop and smashed it to pieces on the table.

"Walter!" Peter reprimanded sharply.

"Useless piece of trash!" Walter hissed, beginning to stab his table knife into the black screen, "A _toy_! A useless, frustrating _toy_!"

The waitress had arrived, "Hey, if you can't keep it down, I'm going to have to ask you two to leave-"

Walter's hand shot into his coat to encircle the hilt of his pistol.

Peter gripped his father's arm, twisting his shoulder painfully and forcing him back into his seat, "Yeah," he grinned at her brightly, "Sorry for the trouble. Can we get some more coffee?" _Get out of here and mind your own business,_ his eyes told her coldly. Taking his hint, the waitress shuffled away.

It had happened before, it wasn't anything new. Walter often threw fits, when he couldn't fathom something, and often times, it was something so impossibly simple, it was simply below his intellect. Peter knew better than to do it himself, it only made Walter even more aggressive… he just had to keep an eye out and keep the damages to a minimum.

"I'm sorry, Peter, I'm sorry!" Walter was whimpering and Peter released his arm, "I'll fix it, I will! I swear I will!" he began to scramble for the pieces of the shattered contraption, scooping shards of circuitry to his chest, "It won't be like last time! I-I just need some glue, or something-" tears were flowing freely from both of his eyes, and he was trembling violently.

"Forget the computer, Walter. Just calm down," Peter replied evenly, placing a hand on his father's trembling shoulder while he slid the other in Walter's coat to gently pull the gun from the holster in his armpit, "did you take your meds, this morning?"

"I can even fix it with gum! Can you imagine? B-but I _can _fix it!" hurriedly he attempted to fit the circuit boards together, cutting his fingers on the sharp edges, "I'll fix it, and it'll listen to me, and we can get the information…"

"Walter, stop. Your having a serious meltdown, and I can't take you to a hospital if you hurt yourself again," Peter swept the components off the table and into the opposing seat, "Slow down, and take your medication."

"I don't need a doctor. I _am _a doctor, wouldn't you know? I'm a genius. They told me that, but I'm such a fucking idiot, I can't draw much of a comparison…"

"Listen to yourself, you're babbling."

"It deleted the information, Peter," Walter sobbed quietly, rubbing his eyes on the back of his sleeve, "All of it is gone. I broke the system, I always do, and it just stripped the damn thing- I think it was a trap, like that. You must be so angry with me…"

Peter felt lead settle in his stomach, and swallowed, "All-all of it?"

"But I can fix it-"

Peter shook his head, attempting to place a calm façade over his growing dread, "No, Walter, it's okay, you did the best you could. We'll just have to try something else…" but he could think of nothing. He felt a sharp splinter of plastic digging into the back of his leg.

xXx


	6. Chapter 6

Chapter VI

"Ho, Olivia. Live from the wire. I think we've got something," Charlie stood before her desk, dropping a paper-clipped stack of papers onto her keyboard.

Olivia sat up from her slumped position at her desk, pulling off her reading glasses as she began to sift through them, "Yeah? I'm listening."

"Well, you know how you told us to keep tabs on all the major hotels in both Boston and New York? Something turned up. A Hilton Garden Inn, on the tourist side of Madison square garden. A single room, registered to a 'Crimen Poena'."

Olivia snorted, wondering if she had the energy to be offended, "You've got to be kidding. First it's 'Peter Raskolnikov', then 'Walter Dostoyevsky'?"

"Color me ignorant, but how the hell do you know this is the Bishops?" Charlie asked flatly.

Astrid did not look away from staring up at the television screen, as it played the first few seconds security tapes that weren't white noise over and over again, "_Crimen Poena_ is Latin. It translates to something like 'Crime and Punishment'."

Charlie shook his head, "So, they're mocking us."

"Nope. It's just something cute Walter probably dreamed up," Olivia stood and stretched, her back popping now and again as her spine fell into alignment once more, "Probably for Astrid, he knows she studied Latin."

"So they know it's us, chasing them."

"Only we would be clever enough to catch it," Olivia replied. She was pulling on her coat, "Well, the only way we'll know is to get down there and check it out for ourselves. Astrid, are you coming?"

Astrid looked up at her, blinking a few times, "Oh- yeah. I need to stop by Massive Dynamic anyways, there's still a few things I need to take another look at." she rose, shutting off the television and moving away to gather her things from her own desk.

"Stay and hold down the fort?" Olivia offered to Charlie with a smile.

Charlie shook his head with a sigh, "Anything for my angels."

Olivia laughed, "Don't get cocky," and she stuffed her cell phone into her pocket, waving over her shoulder as she left.

xXx

There was a chime on the phone, and Nina Sharpe looked up from her desktop screen at the blinking light. She frowned in concern; it was the private line. She traced the blinking button with her fingertip a few moments before pressing it, and tapping her Bluetooth, "Sharpe speaking."

"Nina."

She visibly tensed, glaring at the window across her office, "I should have known it was you- private line, secure number."

A soft chuckle, "I saw you on the television this morning. It was like your smile was robotic, too."

"Enough. Your system failed us. It was hacked."

"Yes, I heard about that. The Bishops, was it?"

Nina leaned back in her chair, fighting the impulse to draw her window shades defensively. He had a habit of watching his 'subjects', "Of course it was the Bishops. The same that have been picking off our pathetic competitors."

Another laugh, a dark and amused one, "Competitors? Those fools couldn't lock a padlock right, more or less design a security system even remotely as challenging as my own."

"You sound pleased."

"I am. It's been a while, Nina, since I've had anything to do."

Nina smiled quietly, "So, I suppose narcotics trading is terribly boring."

More laughter, light, amused. He seemed like a happy little boy, sometimes, "Certainly not! The kicks die, after a few years. It all fades."

"You made us a guarantee," Nina cut in, "You said we were impenetrable. I always knew we couldn't trust you."

"Easy," He assured her, "As much as I like a challenge, I hate loosing even more, _especially_ to an old man like Walter Bishop.I'll repair your system, worry not. Then, I will _crush _the Bishops."

Nina snorted, "With what, your band of petty, drugged-up lackeys? And it doesn't matter what you do to repair Massive Dynamic, the information is irretrievable. They aren't stupid."

He sighed. Nina thought it sounded tired, and frightfully old, "Nina, Nina, _LiebFrau_. I'll trap them. You know I can do that, you've seen me do it before. And you and I both know about Massive Dynamics' little secret."

Nina smirked, "There are a whole lot of secrets, in Massive Dynamic. Face it- you're just a punk hacker from a bygone age. William only felt sorry for you, and your… _condition_."

He had always been quick to anger, it was in his blood. Perhaps the disease fed on it, "Yes, Bell was always such a sweetheart. He's quite good, to his lab rats, _ja_?"

Nina watched her mechanical fingers work under artificial flesh, "Yes."

"I'll repair your system when I get around to it. Send me flowers, Nina, you know the kind I like."

Nina nodded, "They'll be there."

He sighed into the phone again, "You were always so thoughtful. But you're old, now, so I hate you." the line went dead.

Nina sat in silence for a few moments, watching the darkening skyline out the window. She silently debated with herself if she should trust Him. She never had. That would not change, now. Then, she tapped her Bluetooth again, calling up her secretary, "Yes, I need you to place an order for me. One dozen red tulips. Yes, imported. Only the best."

xXx

The desk clerk at the Hilton Garden inn was a girl, only about seventeen. She seemed meek to speak to the police, at first, until she met Olivia, falling into a sense of security that all females seem to share with one another, "The one guy, he was kind of unshaven. But he didn't look like a slob, or anything. He's the one that rented the room, got everything set up."

Olivia nodded, "You said there was another man? What did he look like?"

She frowned, "The other one… he was really weird. Kind of creepy. He was pretty old, always doing weird stuff."

"Weird stuff? Like what?" Olivia pressed.

"He told us the chlorine level in the indoor pool was too high. He said he'd tested it himself. And he had to be over at the snack machine every ten seconds. They both acted kind of weird- the younger guy would talk to the old guy like a puppy, or something."

"What do you mean? Baby talk?"

"No, eww. I don't think they were a couple, I've seen couples before. The young guy- he'd tell him to sit, to stop messing with the plants, stuff like that."

Olivia considered, "When did they check in?" she asked, even though she knew full well the answer.

"Monday. They checked out late Wednesday morning."

Monday. Tuesday had been the assault on Massive Dynamic. Wednesday had given them time to sleep it off. Smart, convenient- she knew that three days or less meant no permanent record, and apparently, so did Peter. Simply catching him here had been a fluke, on the Bishops' part- Olivia was onto something hot, now.

"Do you mind if I have a look at the room?" Olivia questioned.

"Of course."

Room 163 had, as anticipated, been cleaned. But Olivia dared to hope, as she entered the small, neat room. She shut the door behind her, and stood in the silence as she began to turn back time with her mind.

One bed. They'd had to share it, Peter probably hadn't liked that. Walter was cold, his circulation was low, and he always stole the blankets. A shivering, angry Peter, laying in the dark, wishing to smother his father in the pillows as he snored made Olivia smile. Perhaps Walter had even warmed his cold feet in the small of Peter's back.

Olivia continued on, opening the empty cabinets. They'd definitely had to bring along their own food, orders down to room service would leave a tab. Paying it would leave a nasty paper trail, skipping the bill would be even worst. Walter had probably complained that his fluctuating appetite had not been appeased.

She passed the closet to note new screw holes in the molding. Peter had bolted the door shut. Why? Olivia took a peak inside, only to find it empty.

The bathroom was an awful sea-foam green color that made Olivia wince with distaste. Everything seemed to be made out of porcelain, and cold, as she brushed it with her fingertips. The sink was shallow, and just the right shape to splash water onto one's shirt front. But for one of Peter's height, it would have been awkwardly placed in the crotch-region. Walter would have simply nodded with understanding.

Olivia returned to the room, lifting the remote from the night table and turning on the television. Whoever had cleaned and prepared the room had forgotten to change the channel to the traditional welcome screen, and _SpongeBob Squarepants _lit up the dim room with life.

Olivia let out a soft laugh, and settled on the side of the bed to watch.

_Jesus, Walter, how can you watch such mind-numbing slush?_

_You don't know brilliance when you see it, boy. This cartoon is extraordinary. I stop thinking for an entire hour. You have no idea how much of a relief that is._

_I thought you were against mind control._

_I INVENTED mind control._

_Well, go brush your teeth, Freud. We've got a long day ahead of us._

Olivia was laughing again as she felt a tear slide down her cheek. They were bastards, the both of them. For making her care.

xXx


	7. Chapter 7

Chapter VII

"Sir, we're closing in a few minutes, so I'm going to have to ask you go-"

Peter grabbed the music store manager by the collar, "Hey," he said quietly, slipping a hundred into the man's palm, "Close later."

"Yes, sir."

Silence found the sound-proofed room as the glass door shut with a sound resembling the flap of owl wings. Peter watched Walters' slouched form over the keyboard of the baby grand piano, "Walter," Peter said at last, "come on. You haven't played anything all day. Let's get out of here."

"I just need stimuli," Walter replied without moving.

Peter shook his head, "No. No more drugs. Absolutely not. I don't want you freaking out like the Sark job."

"I can't think fast enough," Walter protested softly.

"You can think just fine. Let's just go back to the hotel, and you can sleep on it." Peter plucked Walter's coat from the rack near the door, and moved to his father's motionless pose, holding it out to him.

"I can't, I can't."

"Come on. Get up." Peter brushed a key with his elbow, the hollow note ringing in the still air.

Walter seemed to pounce on the sound, beginning to bang on it relentlessly, "B…b…b…sharp…" he breathed.

Peter smirked gently, "Yeah. Check it," he took a seat beside his father, drumming out a small, jazzy tune, "I didn't forget _everything_."

"But I did. I'm forgetting something, Peter," he silently listened to his son's playing for a few moments, "Your favorite song to play was '_Alla Turca'_. Mozart. Dreadful."

"_'Alla Turca' _was the only remotely exciting sheet music in the house," Peter murmured, and paused, beginning to play a familiar, soft melody, "Remember this one?"

"No."

"Come on, Walter. You have to remember. '_Ah, vous dirai-je, Maman'_. You'd play it for mom and I all the time."

Walter looked up at him, a nostalgic smile crossing his features, "Oh…yes. Mozart as well, I suppose," he sighed, "I…I always wanted to teach it to you, when you got older."

"Well, I've gone and learned it, old man," Peter replied cheerfully, speeding up the melody and complicating it drastically, "Come on, Walter, let's get going. You're not going to find anything here."

"Let me play it," Walter asked.

Peter lifted his hands away from the keys, his final note ringing in the still air, "Have at it. But then we have to go." he lifted Walter's coat from the bench, returning it to the coat rack at the door.

Slowly, cautiously, Walter plinked out the simple melody without emphasis. He paused, and splayed his long, thin fingers over the keys, "These keys, I understand them, but the other ones…" the room was suddenly plunged into an abyss of sound, and Peter watched, impressed, as his father drummed on the keys in a flurry of movement that was nothing short of genius, the body of the melody seeming to escape the parameters of the song in complication. He stopped abruptly, slamming down the key guard, "I'VE GOT IT!"

xXx

"Datum storage? In the private sector?" Peter questioned in disbelief, gaping openly as his father wolfed down a third cheeseburger, "Are you _serious_?!"

Rattling the ice in his cup and frowning, Walter nodded, "Um-hum. Well, mostly record storage. They used to do it back in the day, I'm sure they do it now. Wealthy- or is it cautious?- companies would bank their financial records; they didn't want another Black Tuesday, you know? Are you going to eat your fries?"

"So, wait, you knew this all along? And you were just going to let this slip?! Jesus, Walter!" Peter ran his fingers through his hair, then leaned forward, halting Walter's apprehension of his fries, "You seem to be missing the point again. The rarer the information, the more we get _paid_. If Massive Dynamics can just run along and get their database back from some place like _that_-" Peter snapped his fingers, "You see where I'm going with this, right?"

Walter wiggled a fry free from under Peter's tyrannical fingers, "I wanted you to think you were doing well, in your schemes, so I was simply going to insert a virus into the datum storage and corrupt all the files. Provided I can _find _the place."

"What do you mean, find it?" Peter questioned, sliding his fries away as his father started for them again.

"Well, back in the way back machine- I made one of those, did I tell you?- anyways, much of the records and documents that were stored were often tampered with. So, these systems sort of disappeared. For the love, Peter, give me a damn fry."

"'Out of sight, out of mind'? That sort of thing?" Peter pressed, frowning with thought, "But what if the systems just dissolved? How can we know?"

"We can't, unless we find one," Walter answered, flicking Peter's cell phone onto the floor. Peter stooped for it, and Walter took the opportunity to stuff his mouth with the unprotected fries. Chewing, he continued, "These types of things will have little to no access, from any sort of outside tampering. That means I cannot hack in. If we want to get all of the information back, we're going to need to find a datum storage and physically intrude."

"Providing it's even the right one," Peter sighed, "Who knows? Massive Dynamic may even have a private one of their own."

"So… did I do well?" Walter questioned hopefully.

Peter laughed, "Yeah, Walter. It's a long shot, but at least it's something. I'll talk to someone that might help us, tomorrow… good job," beaming, Peter offered his fries to his father.

Walter waved them off, fiddling with the straw in his drink. Concerned, Peter looked down to find the paper carton empty, "Walter get what Walter want," Walter murmured apologetically.

xXx

Peter left Walter to the solace of the closet when he left the room the next morning. He'd known the day they had arrived that he would have to install the lock again, but today, he simply draped an extra blanket over his father's curled form and left a box of Lucky Charms out on the counter.

He didn't want Walter with him, in a place like this.

'The Works' was one of the more risqué of clubs, deep in the darker side of the Bronx. Peter didn't know which mafia ran the place, at this point, but he knew he was walking into the lions' mouth, going there. He wistfully hoped he wouldn't get shot.

The glaring, hot-pink lighting of the club he remembered was off, when he entered, as many of the underground places only seemed alive at night. It was dim and smoky, in the lounge, workers casually scrubbing the wood floor and working the scuffs of high-heels off the tables, "Hey," Peter said, catching one of the workers by the cuff, "Is Borno in, today?"

He was gruffly shrugged off, "Green room."

Peter made his way across the floor and to a door marked _staff only_. He hesitated only a moment, before pushing it open and shuffling inside.

Peter ignored the posters depicting lithe, nude, female forms that spanned the walls, as he moved down the hall and around the corner. Was bumped backward as a distraught girl bustled past him, mascara running down her face as she screamed Haitian obscenities over her shoulder, only to be answered with deep, booming replies from the green room. Peter continued on, to the source of her distress, "Borno," he sighed, leaning back against the doorway, "Didn't your mother ever tell you to treat the girls nice?"

Borno was a tall, lanky man, with long, dark dreadlocks held in a single, low band, reaching nearly to his waist. A design of tiny dot tattoos swirled around the chiseled features of his face, making him appear as a spectral jungle animal. Peter always thought of a panther, when he saw him.

"She a bitch. I don' got time for trash-" Borno turned, and his eyes widened, "Bishop."

Peter swallowed back his unease with a grin, "Hiya, Borno."

"You bettah be a spirit, boy. You bettah be dead."

Peter sighed, "Listen, Borno-"

"Wit you tinking, commin' back to dis pleace?! You crazy, boy?!"

"And what the hell are you still doing here?!" Peter snapped, "Listen, Borno, I don't have time. I need a favor."

Borno swept across the room, grasping Peter's collar in his long fingers and lifting him from the floor and pinning him to the wall. His wide, white eyes continued to peer unblinkingly into Peter's face, "Ah favor?! Fo' _jo_?! You mus' be crazy, Boy! You dead, 'roun' here! If'n you's caught, You be six feet undah, boy!"

"I've had shit to do, alright?" Peter hissed, "I know I shouldn't have dropped you like that, Borno! But I'm not like you- I'm not a glorified pimp!"

Borno paused for a few moments, then let out a laugh, releasing him, "You's sharp, boy. Nah. You's an anahchist, thas wit you is."

"And a damn good one," Peter replied.

"Da bess. Wit you been doin' boy?"

"I can't stick around and chat, Borno. You said it yourself- the mafia catches me here, I'm a gonner. I need a favor, and I swear to god I'll repay it tenfold. You know I'm good for it."

"I don' know notin'. Wit yah be wantin', boy?" Borno crossed the room, and took a seat. Peter did not follow suit.

"I'm in for a job, right now. I need to use the old network, or Raze'll have my ass by next week." Peter tried not to touch anything. The smell of cheap, stale perfume was already making him sick.

Borno sucked air through his front teeth in a short laugh, "Raze. You be sellin' you soul to de devil 'imself, boy."

"I know I'm in over my head. That's why I need your help."

Borno considered, the designs on his brow shifting with his thoughts, "I should kill you now, boy, fer wit you done. Bit I tink I be lettin' Raze to do it. I clean mah 'ans ah you."

Peter sighed, "I guess I should thank you."

"Nah. You curse me, boy. You's a bettah man to do it. Wit you be needin'?"

xXx


	8. Chapter 8

Chapter VIII

"Agent Farnsworth, I know that we may not have had much interaction, in the past, but I must commemorate your performance as an agent. In light of resent events, you have proven yourself admirably, both as an advocate of the law and a capable electronics specialist."

"Thank you, Miss Sharpe. I only have the best interests of Massive Dynamic in mind."

Nina Sharpe smiled at her, a warm, friendly smile. A smile of caring, "Yes, and thank you. As I am currently more appraised of the situation at hand than others, I have the ability to ask; were there any signs, to warrant the obviously reversed will of Peter and Walter Bishop?"

Astrid let nothing show on her face, as she calmly and professionally averted Sharpe's prodding, "It's a matter of record, Miss Sharpe, I'm sure you understand."

Nina nodded, "I see. Then I have only to offer my condolences- you and Walter were close, were you not?"

"Dr. Bishop was my friend."

"He did not have many, I'm sure he'd have been touched, by your sentiments."

"Miss Sharpe, I need to have another look at your system. There are a few suspicions I would just like to shake out of my head," Astrid calmly shifted the laptop case on her hip. This woman referred to Peter and Walter as if they were dead. Perhaps it was wishful thinking.

"I'm afraid that's not possible," Sharpe replied, sitting back in her desk chair, "Time is money, agent Farnsworth, and we are currently in the process of having the system serviced."

Astrid looked openly shocked, "Miss Sharpe, your system is fried. Pardon the crass terminology, but you're just going to cut your losses and front for a new configuration- the damage is far too excessive."

"I assure you, we have a specialist working on it," Sharpe said calmly.

"You hired a configuration operator from the private sector?" Astrid questioned, privately astonished.

Sharpe smirked softly, "I suppose you could call him that. You can meet him yourself, if you like."

"Very much," Astrid said darkly.

Why did Sharpe make it feel like stepping into a cave full of bats? Astrid slowly shifted her case from one hip to the other, as she watched the counter over the door drop as the elevator descended. Her eyes strayed to the newly replaced wooden paneling, her finger absently traced where a bullet hole may have been. At last the doors slid open, and she stepped into the recesses of Massive Dynamic once more.

A small door tag read _executive storage_, and opened to a dark, featureless room. As Astrid crossed it in search of the mainframe interface, alarm began to shape her mind, and she nearly stumbled over a mass of cords that ran down the hall like black veins. She followed them tentatively, and at last pushed open the ajar door.

The room was black, save the tiny, flashing operation lights of countless processors scattered about the room, and the bright blue glare of a laptop screen, illuminating the small form that lay in the middle of the room, seemingly entangled in the spiders' web of cables, like the heart.

"Uh," Astrid said, after shaking of the initial strangeness of the encounter, "h-hello?"

No response. Sharp, precise typing.

Astrid had to wait a few moments, before calling again, "Hello?" she took a step forward, brushing a cord.

Like a spider sensing prey, at the vibrations in it's web, the figure looked up sharply, pulling an earphone away, "_Vas ist Das_?!" they demanded.

Astrid stepped back, toward the door, "Oh, um, here, let me just get the lights…" her fingers scrambled over the switch on the wall, the florescent bulbs overhead flickering on.

The figure hissed and contracted, "_Jesus Christ, _my freaking _retinas_! What the hell are you doing?!"

Astrid blinked, and rubbed an eye. Was this a young boy, before her, or a petite girl…? She then remembered, Sharpe has referred to their operator as 'he', "I-I'm sorry, but, are you… the private configuration operator?"

He looked up at her, rubbing his eye socket and glaring, "Can I help you?" Opera music was faint from his headphones.

"I just- Miss Sharpe said that they had hired a private operator, to repair the system. It's pretty…well, the system is gone, so I was curious-"

"And who are you, to be making such a diagnosis?" the stranger questioned sharply.

There was something strange, here. Something was wrong, with this boy… his speech patterns, his movements… they were absently childish, yet held the intellect of knowledge, a certain cynicism that she had experienced before.

"Walter," Astrid murmured, before she could stop herself.

His brows shot up, "Your name is Walter? Well, things certainly have gotten more interesting, haven't they?"

Astrid balked, "Ah, no! That's not- I'm agent Farnsworth, of the FBI."

"Oh. Wonderful. And how old are you, Agent Farnsworth?" he climbed to his feet, dusting nothing from his dark blue private school uniform. He pushed his long bangs aside, looking up at her.

"That's not important. I need to know what you are doing with the system configuration. Would you mind if I had a look?"

"I'll bet you're almost twenty two. You're a grown-up."

Astrid blinked, with a small, exasperated smile, "Kid-"

He stepped forward with a beaming smile, throwing his arms around her middle, "I'm Raze! I know I can trust you, Agent Farnsworth, you're really nice!"

"Uh-" Astrid stammered, before he released her, scurrying back the computer. The child's entire demeanor had changed in a matter of seconds- like an entirely new persona took hold.

"Come see," he said, sitting cross-legged, and motioning for her to do the same, "Look what I made. It's perfect."

Tentatively, Astrid took a seat, looking into the screen, "This… this is a whole new system," she exclaimed, "How did you _do_ this?!"

Raze smiled, "I'm really smart. Everyone at school is jealous- even the grown-ups. I hate them."

Astrid scrolled the coding, completely flabbergasted, "it's a loop- a trap-"

"But I can tell you're not like them. You're smart, like me… so I'll tell you what I did," Astrid looked up as Raze lifted a stuffed toy into his lap, smiling into velvet, "It's like a spiders' web. The more you get in, it just keeps rolling over, tangling you, until the spider can come…" he glanced up at her, "You're the spider, Agent Farnsworth. Do you like what I made?"

Astrid shook her head, "No, you can't have written this. It's an echo of the system construct back in…" she stopped, glancing at Raze nervously.

Raze only giggled.

No, he wasn't like Walter. There was something darker, crueler, in this prodigy. To design a trap of this severity… it was not made to keep others out, but more to draw them in, trap them in their temptation. It was a pure, yet merciless, construct, used only to ensnare prey. Astrid suddenly felt cold, "You made the system for the FBI, didn't you?"

"If you like it, then pat my head. They pat my head, when I'm good."

Astrid got to her feet and left the room, feeling sick.

"Agent Farnsworth," Nina Sharpe hailed her as she crossed the lobby, toward the doors. Sharpe looked genuinely concerned, "is everything alright? You look upset- was Raze terribly rude?"

"No, no," Astrid answered, "No, he was… thank you for letting me have a second look, Miss Sharpe."

Sharpe smiled ruefully, "Any time, Agent Farnsworth," Astrid moved past her, when an envelope was suddenly pressed into her hand, "could you possibly see this gets to Agent Dunham?"

xXx

Olivia sat at her desk, and lifted the envelope from her keyboard curiously. It was unmarked, and she glanced up to see if anyone may have had instructions for her on just what to do with it. There was no one.

Olivia pulled a letter opener from her top door, and slit the envelope open carefully. She removed a single sheet of folded paper, smoothing it out on her desktop. It contained only two lines of print:

_8570 Bradrick Hollows, Linthicum Heights, Maryland. We are in your hands, Agent Dunham._

Olivia scooped up the letter and headed for Broyals' office.

_Save us. End this._

xXx

It was an odd place to see an expensive black sports car. But if it wasn't strange enough to see a Viper parked under a tree outside of a Shaw's, the tennis shoes sticking out of the off-drivers' window may have attracted a bit more attention. Peter shook his head, intending to put a stop to the scene when he reached it with the grocery bags.

"Walter," Peter said as he reached the vehicle, stooping to look inside. His father was stretched out along the reclined seat, his shiny new laptop on his stomach as he typed, his feet propped up on the windowsill. His only response was slowly tapping his toe in a rhythm.

"Walter," Peter repeated. Nothing.

Peter stepped back, activating the alarm with his keychain.

Walter yelped, sitting bolt upright and plucking the ear buds from his ears. He frowned as his son chuckled softly, "Don't _do_ that, boy," he grumbled, flushing as he shut the computer.

"Stop scratching up the door with your shoes," Peter replied, passing the grocery bags to him and opening the door. He paused, "Walter- _what the hell is that?_"

Walter looked alarmed, "What? What is what?"

Peter pointed accusingly at the coke can on the island, "What the hell is that doing in my car?!"

Walter rolled his eyes, "It's quite simply sitting there. You know, the pull of the earth draws it toward mass' greatest point- I believe it's called gravity. Weakest force, yet most prominent? Ringing any bells?"

"_It's called sugar on my upholstery_," Peter hissed in reply, "defiling this cars' purity and beauty with a potential disaster. Why don't you just draw a mustache on the Mona Lisa?!" he plucked up the can with his fingertips, holding it at arms' length as he strode off in search of a trash can.

Walter sighed, "It's a _car._" He rifled through the paper bags, drawing out a bag of peanut M'n'Ms. He tore them open, carefully selecting a brown candy- he hated the brown ones- and pushing it into the fold of the drivers' seat with his thumb. He sat back, folding the bag shut, "Putz."

"So, you said we needed to get a hold of some sort of collector, for floor plans?" Peter asked as he got back into the car, starting the engine.

"Presumably. The address that you acquired is very, very old, it seems, so I have no doubt that it has some sort of historical value. Certain people would keep such things as building plans and structural layout in the archives for their value." Walter righted his seat, settling the grocery bags between his knees.

"How are we supposed to get them? Steal them?"

"Is your mind stuck in some sort of criminal gear?" Walter frowned at the celery, "Why do you always buy things I hate? It takes more energy to digest celery than what the stupid vegetable gives. It's the only food that actually _steals_ from you."

"So, say we can't get the floor plans. What then?"

"Well… I'm afraid we'd have to assess the situation as best we could from photographs, and unfortunately play the rest by ear. Did you get any peanut butter? The only way I think I can tolerate celery is with peanut butter," he began to wave the vegetable about, watching the thin leaves flutter on the long stalks.

"No, Walter, I'd planned on boiling the damn thing and mashing it into a fine paste for you. Can you _please _be serious for just one minute?" Peter took the celery from Walter's hands, cramming it back into the paper bag.

"I knew a man at Harvard- back when I worked there, that is- and he used to go to auctions for such things. His collection was quite extensive, really… you did too get peanut butter, I can see it in the bag. It's a good thing, too, because I simply could not force myself to eat-"

"Walter, god damn it, pay attention! Who was this man, and do you know where we could get a hold of him? I can't stress enough how important this is- _nothing can go wrong_, okay?" Peter looked over at his father, who sighed.

"I'm sorry Peter. You know how I get, when I'm hungry. His name was Buchanan, and I only remember because he got into a horrible car accident, and a few of the students went around calling him 'bloody Buchanan' for the longest time. The alliteration was quite sick. Or-wait- was it perhaps _me,_ that turned the phrase…?"

"So Buchanan is long gone," Peter said flatly, "Grand. We'll just have to look someplace else. Who else, in their right mind, would collect that kind of crap?"

"I'm vaguely surprised that you don't have some sort of strange companion that is an expert in the field," Walter admitted, examining the jar of peanut butter.

"You are my strange companion, Walter. And yes, I do know where we have to go," Peter sighed. "I was just hoping we didn't have to go back to the little bastard empty-handed."

Walter looked confused, "Who?"

"Do you like cello music?"

xXx


	9. Chapter 9

Chapter IX

It was really a pity. A pity at how blind these people were, that they did not see a criminal on the stage of the concert hall, a _creature, _rather than a young cello prodigy, something capable of far more horrible things than hitting the wrong note.

But, even as Raze stood before some of the most prominent figures in the local government, taking a bow, Peter clapped. No expression shown on his face, as Raze took a seat, carefully folding his tails out of the way as he settled the gleaming, auburn-colored cello between his knees, raising his bow. The instrument matched his hair, pulled back into a careful braid at the back of his neck. The concert hall sat in breathless silence, as he tested each of thick strings, and at last began to play.

"Bach!" Walter whispered in delight, "He's playing Bach, Peter!"

"I know, Walter," Peter replied quietly. He only continued to watch Raze, unheeding of the cello suite the flowed through the air, as if enchanted. Peter plucked absently at the stiff collar of his own tuxedo, swallowing. No, he'd made a mistake. This wasn't Raze, Raze wasn't capable of such music, and Peter had to look away as he shuttered, wishing for the sweet tones to stop before they killed him.

"He's quite talented," Walter admitted.

"He's disgusting," Peter whispered. He paused, as his eyes came to rest on a sight that chilled him with fear.

Nina Sharpe sat in her private box overlooking the hall, and her fingers absently perused the pearls draped around her neck as she watched the stage, seeming slightly bored. Peter dropped his gaze as her eyes swept over the audience, praying that she had not seen him.

"Walter," Peter whispered, jogging his father's elbow. Walter snapped his attention away from the concert, and Peter covertly motioned to the box. Walter looked confused, and twisted his head to look up, "No!" Peter hissed, "She'll see you!"

Their eyes locked, and Nina's face went blank. Walter returned his attention to his son with a slight shrug, "Not my type," he murmured, and looked up at the stage again

Peter slapped his hand over his eyes, and grabbed Walter by the elbow, attempting to rise, "Come on, we have to get out of here-"

"_Sit down_," Walter hissed, forcing his son back down.

"Walter, we have to-"

"You do not simply leave in the middle of a recital, it is the height of _rude. _This isn't some sort of tawdry matinee, and I will not permit you to make a fool of me."

Peter sighed with agitation, "Walter, that's Nina Sharpe. She works for Massive Dynamic- you know, the people we _stole _from?!"

"I know full well who she is!" Walter snapped, "Now be quiet as stop embarrassing me!" Walter crossed his arms across his chest, indicating that the argument was over.

Peter sighed, rubbing his eyes with his fingertips, "Unbelievable."

Only a few minutes of unbearable melody had passed, and Peter felt panic welling in his chest as he watched the exits slowly fill with police, the light of his hope of escaping dimming, "Walter…" he croaked dryly, tugging on the sleeve of his father's tux jacket, "Please…"

"Excuse me?" someone asked, bewildered, and Peter jumped with surprise, dropping the stranger's sleeve. Peter looked around in shock, as Walter had disappeared.

There was a horrible screeching noise, and Peter looked up. Raze had stilled in his playing, and his bow arm trembled as he lowered it from the cello. He coughed softly, and looked up. A tiny hole marred the glossy surface of the instrument, and crimson seemed to blossom on the white breast of his shirt. Raze let the cello fall with a clatter, and dropped from the stool, sprawling on the stage.

"No!" Peter exclaimed, and the theater when black. Walter had killed the lights.

xXx

Raze lifted his hazy eyes from the floor, the world seeming to slur as blood filled his lungs.

_Damn it. They've ruined my cello._

It hurt. But he'd experienced worse pain before; he sometimes traced the scars as he lay in bed at night, unable to sleep, to escape from his suffering. Perhaps this would kill him- he was loosing blood fast…pain wracked his body in a spasm, and he contracted on the floor, blood escaping the corner of his lips as he coughed, choking.

_Nina._

He felt arms pull him up, and lift him from the floor, and he blinked, trying to regain his senses as he was rushed back stage, behind the thick velvet curtains. He was again lain out, as his jacket was pulled open and his bowtie stripped away. He turned his face away with shame as his shirt was torn open, his awful scars in full visibility, and his bangs fell over his face, hot with sweat, "Don't…" he managed, raising his small hands to stop Walter's touch, "I'm a freak…"

Walter frowned, shaking off Raze's grip and continuing to pack the wound, blood staining his hands, "I remember you, Georges Von Thürer. The moment I heard you play, I remembered you; a German cello prodigy, with a very rare, and very fatal aging disorder. Belly said you'd died. What happened?"

"He saved me," Raze answered, "William… he gave me another chance. The bastard."

"How?" Walter asked.

"He reversed it, with the _Methuselah_."

Walter's eyes widened, "The _Methuselah _was a failure. The reversal of genetic aging… a mockery of immortality. He couldn't possibly have… but you…"

Raze wheezed softly, "Trust me, I know why it failed. Do you know what it is like, to be trapped in this timeless body forever? To never know what a man would know? Time stops- it is a nightmare that I can never awaken from. Over and over, my body rips itself apart, killing old cells, cells that the disease feeds on… but it's there forever. It will die when I do."

Walter's face softened. The cloth against Raze's rapidly rising and falling chest was completely saturated with blood.

"And I won't be saved by you, old man. You're one of the perfect people, like _her_. I could never- _nn_!" he bared his teeth, quaking as another wave of torture racked his small form, "I hate you. I hate old people, because all they do is die. She'll forget me and die, she hates me."

"Who?" Walter asked softly.

"Nina," Raze whispered softly, "She sends me flowers and lies. She's so perfect."

"You love Nina," Walter said, softer still.

"_Ich sterbe, Sie alter Dummkopf_," [I'm dying, you idiot,] Raze muttered, falling back to his old tongue as his life faded, "_Spiel rüber." _[Game over.]

Walter bit his lip, "Just hang on. Hang on, you little brat, you're not finished yet."

Raze snorted softly, "Nah, I'm done. If it's this easy to kill me, it was only a matter of time. Here," he pushed a slip of bloodstained paper into Walter's hands, looking up into his face, "_Ich-Ich wünsche, daß es unterschiedlich gewen sein würde." _[I-I wish it could have been different.]

Walter smiled softly, whispering, "_Ich, auch."_ [Me, too.]

Raze's glazed eyes widened with a childlike glee, "_Sprekken ze deusche_?"

Walter nodded, feeling a shiver run through Raze's body, "I'm not sure where I learned it, actually."

Raze coughed, smiling faintly as a rivulet of sanguine crossed his delecate chin, "_Ich sollte etwas ähnliches von Ihnen, alter Mann erwartet haben. Ich bin erhalte nicht, wie Sie ganz altersschwach zu sein froh. Ich würde mich töten."_ [I should have expected something like this from you, old man. I'm glad I won't get to be all decrepit, like you. I'd kill myself.]

Walter's brows knitted in disapproving admiration, "_Ich erwarte, daß Sie wurden,_ [I expect that you would,] and yet you still manage to be such a _booger_. Why is that?"

"It's in my blood. Being a relentless bastard, regardless of the circumstance. Well, that, and-" he seized up in pain, "that, and the disease…"

"Shh," Walter said quietly, smoothing his calloused palm over Razes clammy forehead, "Rest."

Raze smirked defiantly, "_Was auch immer."_

[Whatever.]

xXx

"Walter?" Peter whispered, squinting around at the stage tackles and ropes, "Walter, where the hell are you?!"

"I'm here, son," came his reply in the dark. There was a faint shifting, and Peter felt the silk of his father's lapel against his outstretched hand.

"Walter, we have to get out of here. Raze was shot, and-"

"I know. This way." Peter followed his ears, climbing deeper and deeper into the ropes, down a flight of creaking steps, and to the door of the green room. They pushed open the door, and Peter suddenly found himself pinned by the throat, high on the wall.

Edgar barred his teeth, "Where is he?!" he demanded, "What have you done, Bishop?!"

Peter choked.

"He's dead," Walter replied simply, "Raze is on the stage; where it started, where it ended."

Edgar squeezed threateningly, and Peter squirmed, his vision sparkling "You're lying," he growled.

"You'd want him to keep living, such as he was?!" Walter snapped, "You are even crueler then your late master."

Edgar paused, and dropped Peter, slamming through the door to the stage steps. Walter helped his son to his feet, and Peter massaged his throat, swallowing and coughing, "Let's go," Peter wheezed, pulling off his bowtie. Walter paused, his sights set on a vase of a dozen red tulips. He managed to pull off the message card and stuff it into his pocket as they hurried out.

Outside the opera house, sirens blared. Peter looked back and fourth, slinking in the shadows to avoid the bright, flashing lights, "She's set the armada on us, boy," Walter said.

"Yeah. This way," and they ducked into an alley, running past the discarded wooden props. Peter stopped, and Walter nearly ran into him, as Peter considered the midnight purple street cycle before him, observing its speedy curves, "Okay! Get on!" Peter slung his leg over the bike, tossing Walter the second helmet as he set to rewiring the machine.

"A motorcycle…?" Walter questioned in disbelief.

Peter kicked the engine to life, tightening the buckle at his throat, "Is there a _problem_?"

"No," Walter said shyly, tracing the design on his own helmet with his fingertip, "It's just that… this is all quite exciting. I've always wanted to ride a motorcycle."

_"Then get on!" _Peter hissed.

The clutch was a bit stiff, Peter realized ,as the bike roared down the dark alley, then burst out, into the street, and he tipped it sideways in a sharp turn. The speedometer needle climbed on the tiny consol before him, and he shifted, the motorcycle jarring slightly. Walter's face piece clipped the back of his helmet a bit, and his father's arms shifted around his waist. Peter saw now that his interlaced fingers were soiled with dried blood, but not have time to question as he slipped through traffic, headed toward the tunnel.

xXx


	10. Chapter 10

Chapter X

"This cheating, Nina," Broyals said quietly. She frowned at him delicately from behind her veil, her distaste nearly invisible behind the black.

Nina Sharpe mused the smooth stem of the white lily in her fingertips, bringing the pail flower up to her face, searching for a trace of a scent, "It's not cheating. This is business, not a little league game."

"And the boy? Why did you kill him?"

Nina looked up sharply at the passive Broyals, "I have no idea what you're talking about, Philip. But Georges… he died a great many years ago." She looked up at the quiet funeral possession, moving in and out of time with the gentle moan of the church organ.

"Raze was very valuable, Nina. Whatever you got from his death, it won't be worth it. I'm also assuming it has something to do with the address you've given Dunham; what are you doing, Nina?" Broyals did not raise his voice, even as he quietly warned, "You're being impatient."

"The way Raze designed the system configuration was a trap."

"Impossible. Dr. Bishop wouldn't have been able to withdraw the information from the system."

Nina smirked, "You underestimate the dead, Philip. The trap Raze set was not to spring until much later, when Walter- or anyone else, for that matter- tried to access incomplete information. The system would then self-destruct."

Broyals' brows furrowed, "How did you know that they didn't get all of your system?"

"There's something for everyone, Philip, just watch. I've changed nothing, with Raze's death; just make certain that your agent Farnsworth keeps faith in the boys, and Olivia her distrust." Nina strode at last to the open casket, stooping over the small, pail form of Raze, his hands folded across his chest in a gesture of peace.

She carefully touched his hair with her gloved fingertips, and laid the lily across his sable lapel. She stood and turned, deciding not to shed fake tears for him.

xXx

"Olivia," Charlie exclaimed, stopping with his coffee in hand, "It's your off day."

"I'm off the clock," Olivia grumbled in reply, shuffling a stack of papers aside as she jotted down a note.

Charlie sighed, "Liv- I mean, seriously, what are you doing here?"

She looked up at him, and blinked, "You're right. I should be down at that Opera house, shouldn't I? There was a homicide, someone killed that kid- It's got to be connected…" she returned to sifting files, mumbling inaudibly while she wrote.

Charlie sighed, shaking his head, "You can't be in here, kid. You need to be out, having an ice cream or something, for chrissake. Do something chicks do, take a breather."

Olivia looked up at him again with a small smile, "Ice cream? That's you're idea what chicks do?"

Charlie shrugged one shoulder, sipping his coffee, "I didn't think you went to strip clubs."

Olivia laughed, and got back on with her work. Charlie frowned. For as long as he'd known Olivia, it was impossible to get her off of something, when she got her mind set on it. This was both a good thing, and a bad one. Charlie also knew that there was only one thing he could do about it; "So, did Broyals give you the go-ahead for that 'anonymous' address?" give in.

Olivia shook her head, "No, not yet. He's not sure if we can trust it, that we're not being distracted by something useless. I have to agree- it's way too easy, for the Bishop's address to just fall into our laps…"

"It's not their address," Astrid said, entering with a teeming box of layout plans, "It's a datum storage."

"Datum storage?" Charlie questioned as she passed him, dropping the box onto the table and dusting her hands.

"Yes. It's something like a bank, or a back-up plan, for when a major company crashes. The other companies we've been dealing with haven't had them, only Massive Dynamic… and that's privileged information." Astrid stopped, glancing over at Olivia, "…isn't it your off day?"

Olivia ignored her question, "So they're giving us a way to catch them red-handed. Jesus, this is too easy."

Astrid frowned, "That's what I thought, to. Sharpe knows that they didn't get all of the information, just like we know… so she knows where they're going to go to get the rest of it."

"So if she knows that much, would she know about-" Olivia paused, glancing up at Charlie.

"Oh, come on," Charlie snapped, "whatever you're keeping from me can't be any worse than thinking about you two going to strip clubs."

Astrid looked completely befuddled, and Olivia decided to explain, "When Astrid was inspecting what was left of Massive Dynamic's system, she found that Walter didn't manage to get all of the information. So Astrid did, so we would have leverage against the Bishops."

Charlie raised his eyebrows, "Oh. Well, I totally knew that all along."

"Anyways," Astrid continued, shaking off what appeared to be thoughts about strip clubs, "I don't know if Sharpe has caught on to our sort of illegal info keep-away. But we have to go on assuming she doesn't, because we can't allow something to slip that we can't afford. The less Nina Sharpe knows, the better."

"Yet I still somehow feel that she knows more than we do," Charlie commented absently.

"Always," Olivia replied bitterly, rubbing her temples as she sat back in her desk chair, "So, this is what we've got. The Bishops checked into a Hilton Garden Inn and stole top-secret information from the government that a private cooperation just happened to have. They left shortly after, so that's dead. A cellist is shot, the Bishops are sited at the very same opera house none by other than the head of the chief operating officer of the company they just lifted from, and they somehow manage to disappear from the scene. Then, Sharpe gives Astrid a note for me, with the address for Massive Dynamic's privileged-access datum storage."

"How much do you take to the club? Just so I know what to draw out of the ATM, next time?"

"We're being led," Astrid said quietly.

"We're being fed sugar cubes," Olivia said, "and I don't like it one bit."

"Gene never liked sugar cubes," Astrid said under her breath as Charlie's cell phone gave a chime, and he pulled it from his inside pocket, flipping it open against his chin, "but Walter always fed her orange popsicles…"

"Agent Francis," Charlie answered as Olivia pelted Astrid with paperclips.

"Francis. It's Broyals. I'm only assuming that Olivia is in?"

Charlie smirked, "Yes, sir."

Broyals sighed, "Fine. Tell her we've got the go-ahead on that address. Get your crap and get over to the Baltimore field office."

xXx


	11. Chapter 11

Chapter XI

"I've been thinking to myself that perhaps I should start asking for a salary, from you," Walter said as they strode down the quiet, empty sidewalk. Rain silently battered the umbrella he and Peter shared, "As I really can't say the last few months have been profitable, on my part."

Peter snorted, "How do you mean? What if I'm counting this as payback, for getting you out of St. Claire's?"

Walter frowned, "I thought scoring points with Olivia was payment enough."

Peter laughed, "True, true. Now that that's shot to hell. Fine, then. How much do you want, your wages? And…what exactly do I pay you for?"

"Traditional currency is useless, to me. From this point forward, you will pay me in candy. Lots, and _lots _of candy," he nodded in determination as Peter chuckled.

The pair stood, watching the tall, old building through the black iron fence. The rain made visibility poor, as they searched for light in one of the windows, knowing that deep within the dark, dozens of electronic eyes watched their every movement.

Walter's eyes widened as he gazed into the screen of the blackberry tucked in his coat against his belly, "Wow. Seventeen cameras on the front entrance alone. Paranoid bastards."

"Any way in?" Peter asked, his back turned to the fence.

"Hmmm. No, I don't think so. The entire place seems to be off line- not even a wireless connection in the vicinity," he folded his coat shut again, "We're in a pickle, my boy."

Peter shook his head, "So the cameras see us. It's our first time, here. They won't know something is amiss, until it's too late." Peter checked his watch, "Give me the backpack, Walter, and follow me in ten minutes. Keep your earpiece in, and try not to attract any attention." Peter slung the case over his shoulder and jumped to grab the bars, beginning to climb.

Walter looked down the dark, empty street, "_Whose _attention?" but Peter had disappeared in the rain. Walter sighed, "Be careful, son."

Time passed. Walter began to grow anxious. He suddenly realized he had to pee. He looked down at his watch. Only forty seconds had elapsed. Walter sighed with a frown, rocking back on his heels, then tipping forward and catching himself on his toes. He absently began to hum, to take his mind from his slight discomfort, and began to think about how some people whistled better than they hummed. He thought he hummed better than he whistled, but there was always the critic that may have disagreed with him, and he would have simply enjoyed the compliment about his whistling.

"Walter," Peter said in his earpiece.

"Yes, Peter?"

"Shut up."

Walter smiled awkwardly, "I have to pee, Peter."

His son did not answer him. Walter gently tapped the face of his watch, certain that the thing was on the fritz- surely it had been more than two minutes. He'd make sure to hit Peter up for a new one. Not one of those digital ones, he didn't like them. Perhaps an old, brass pocket watch, like his own father had had, when he was a boy… he'd always wanted one…

"_Walter!_" Peter snapped, "_Shut up!_"

Walter began to grow excited at the prospect of a pocket watch, after this job, and it only made time seem to slow even further, "Sorry," he replied, ceasing his humming, "Can I go in, Peter?"

"No. Ten minutes, remember?"

"But my watch is broken. It could have been a half an hour already. I'm starting to sprout roots, out here."

"Your watch is not broken, now shut up, I'm trying to concentrate."

Ah. Verily, a flaw in his plot to obtain a pocket watch. There was no way Peter would get him one, if his wrist watch was functioning properly. Gently, Walter unstrapped the timepiece from his arm, tossing it onto the wet cement and crushing it under his heel, "It is to. It's busted all to pieces, the thing's a mess." Victory!

"Would you just _quit it_?!"

"Okay. But I may wait out here forever, and I wouldn't even know, because-" there were lights, down the avenue, and Walter paused. The lights shut off, as the car pulled to a halt, near the front gate. More cars pulled in slowly, lining the street. Federal cars, though unmarked.

Walter swallowed back panic, turning his back on them quickly to stride up the street and stand under the bus sign, "We have company, boy."

xXx

"What?!" Peter demanded in a whisper, flattening himself against the wall to avoid a security guard. As the man passed, Peter brought his black jack down at the base of his skull, rendering him unconscious.

"Feds. About nine squad cars, no doubt more around the back. I'm coming in."

"No, damn it, stay there! If something goes down, you get the hell out of here, understand?!"

"Bite me, Peter." and his earpiece was disconnected.

"Walter? Walter?! Son of a bitch!" Peter hissed, abandoning the body of the guard and continuing on. He had to get in there and plug in- he didn't know what else he would do, Walter did the extracting… glumly, he was grateful that the old man had ignored him.

The database, he had discovered from the old network, was hidden in an old manor in Linthicum Heights. There had been literally hundreds more, but only a very select, very expensive few had been able to pinpoint this one as the direct base for Massive Dynamic, and they had been able to pull up the floor plans from Raze's private archive in Baltimore. It seemed that the late crime lord had posessed connections to nearly every underground information system that there was. Peter was slightly relived that his empire had fallen.

Peter knew it would be different, this time, and while the job seemed easy enough, they couldn't risk anything…it was their last chance.

It was all or nothing.

Police were swarming the place, and he hadn't even made it inside. Peter slipped between the hedges, beginning to pull himself up the Virginia Creeper. The storage was in the basement, but he'd have to improvise by entering on the second story. He could re-route well enough, as he had the layout burned countless times into his mind. He'd have to clear a way for Walter; scaling stone walls like Robin Hood was probably beyond him…

Peter stripped off the old shutter fairly easily, as the rusty hinges crumbled under his pressure. He balanced it in his lap as gently slipped the latch, swinging the window open and slipping inside.

Peter landed on the ancient, yet spotless, hall rug silently, sliding the shutter behind the velvet curtains, out of sight. Hidden from the outside by the drawn windows, Peter scampered down the hall to the balcony before the staircase. Police were at the door, arguing with the local security-

His heart and breath seemed to seize in his chest.

Olivia did not take part in the territorial squabbling, and was calmly surveying her surroundings, memorizing every detail. Peter kept below the handrail, in the shadows, but watched, rapt. Only a few months earlier, he could have strode down the stairs to her, thrown his arms around her, kissed her… he silently and painfully wondered why he hadn't. His fears back then seemed so trivial, now, as a million guns stood between them. He didn't care about John, he could have made her forget about him… but, now, he could not make her forget her hate.

He hated himself, for hurting her again.

Peter absorbed the moment entirely, a moment of wishing, of longing… to touch her hair, to see her smile, how she tried to hide her irresistibly light freckles…

_God, how could I have hurt her, _again_?_

"Walter," Peter whispered lightly under his breath, "Come on, you bastard, I know you're there."

"I never left," Walter replied smugly, "and I'm already in."

Peter's eyes widened, "How…?"

"Your tracker says you're at the top of the stairs. Check the door."

Peter chanced a glance over the rail, and Walter, dressed in a full police riot uniform, smiled at him from behind a combat mask. "_Hellooo_, Peter," he chirruped happily, "now, who could that _handsome _policeman be?"

Peters' face split into a grin, "You're a genius."

"Oooh, say it again."

"Listen. I'm going to go deliver the gifts, you get down to the database and do your thing, okay? We'll meet at the extraction point, alright?"

"I still have to pee."

Peter had to refrain from laughing, "_Magical_."

xXx

Peter's shadowy form disappeared down the hall once more, and Walter vaguely wondered if the cargo pants he'd stolen from the deserted back of the SWAT van made his ass look fat. He was turning in circles, trying to see, when he grew dizzy and stumbled into someone, "Easy there," a familiar voice chuckled against his helmet, "I've heard of chasing tail, but come on."

Walter froze. It was _her_. He opened his mouth to speak, and stopped himself. "Yes, ma'am," he decided gruffly, his heart hammering and palms drenching themselves, under his gloves.

"Astrid," Olivia said, "You said the storage was down in the basement. I want you to take someone and get down there, and we'll set up in here."

Astrid. That was it. Astrid. He was too shy to say it, now that he remembered it.

Astrid patted his bullet proofed chest, "Come on, soldier," she smiled, and lead him off toward the kitchen.

"Yes, ma'am," he repeated tonelessly.

"Those pants don't make your ass look fat," she said as she swiped a security pass across the lock on the stainless steel door, dialing in the pass code, "In case you were wondering."

It was a joke. He had to laugh. But he merely stared thru his eye shield dumbly, his tongue sticking to the top of his mouth. _I'm a real idiot._

Astrid turned to look at him, raising a brow, "Why are you so red? It was a compliment, soldier. You're to reply 'Yes, ma'am. You've got a nice ass, too'."

She did have a nice posterior. Jesus Christ, was she flirting with him?! Walter remained in a terrified, silent stupor.

Astrid only laughed, moving on down the stairs, "I like quiet guys. Most are so damn loud."

Walter assumed he was to follow her, and his knees felt weak as he descended the steps. _No_, he told himself, _focus_. _You've got a job to do, Walter, and don't you dare forget, or things will never be the same._ _You won't even be able to tease her about it later- and what fun would that be?_

Setting his jaw in determination, Walter proceeded into the basement, walking the isle between the huge supercomputers that held everything that would make it right again. Her name was quickly replaced as his mind was set into motion once more, and he watched her set up the laptop, jacking into the system, "Check the door, and don't let anyone in," she told him, her eyes intent on her attempts to break in.

Walter wished he could watch, to see if he was anywhere close to her level, but obligingly shuffled away, to the door, hauling the steel ingress shut with a deep _clang_. The damn thing had to be bulletproof, and he all but lost Peter's signal.

Dread gripped him. Peter. He was placing explosives in the house.

Walter glanced over his shoulder, to see if she watched. Her gaze did not stray from the screen, and he reached for his helmet strap.

"Hey, is there a plug, on that wall?" she asked, and he dropped his hand.

"No," he answered. This was nerve-racking.

She sighed, "Watch this for a second," and she headed toward the opposite wall.

Walter leapt on the opportunity, taking long strides to the terminal, his trembling fingers scrambling over the keys as he re-directed Massive Dynamics' system files into the hard drive. _Downloading… _the screen read. He stepped away as Astrid returned, plugging the power supply into the back of the laptop, "Okay," she said, "Just need to grab a chair, and we're all set to monitor." She smiled at him, "This could take a while."

He hadn't tweaked the capacity- it wouldn't hold it all. Problematic.

"Hey," Astrid said, her brows furrowing, "Are you alright…?" she followed his eyes to the screen, "What the hell…?" and she stooped to the keyboard.

Walter pulled the helmet and mask away, dropping them on the floor as his arms shot around her waist to seize her gun and radio, pulling them from her belt.

"Whoa-hey, buddy, I don't-" Astrid pushed away from him, turning. Walter stepped back, the gun barrel parallel with her forehead. She stared, transfixed, at his pained expression, "…Walter…"

Walter glanced down at the screen. _Download complete._ Perhaps she had tweaked the system herself. He returned his eyes to hers, "I'm so sorry," he whispered tearfully, and pulled the trigger.

xXx


	12. Chapter 12

Chapter XII

Olivia paused, the muffled sounds of her footsteps immediately silent in the hall. She stared, and Charlie immediately reached for his gun, "What's up?" he murmured quietly, glancing around.

Olivia cautiously approached the window, shifting the curtains away with her fingertips as she looked out. She blinked slowly, and turned back to Charlie, "…Where's the other shutter?" she was answered as it tipped over, falling out from behind the curtain with a clatter. She drew her gun, locking back the hammer, "They're in the house," she said sharply.

Charlie lifted his radio, "All units. Bishops are in the vicinity. I repeat, _Bishops are in the house._"

"Get downstairs and check on Astrid!" Olivia said, speeding off down the hall. Charlie ran for the stairs.

Olivia dodged back and fourth across the hallway, clearing each of the open doorways as she passed them. A shadow slipped to the side of her vision, and she sprinted after it, "Hey! Freeze!" she let off a warning shot.

But they had disappeared. Olivia reached the intersection of halls, where the mirage had been, her heart thundering in her chest. A small, black canvas satchel lay before her, and she looked back and fourth, before lowering her gun to move closer to the inconspicuous package. Gingerly, knelt, and stretched out her hand toward it.

"Don't touch that!" someone exclaimed, and Olivia let out a cry as someone seized her arm, pulling her away from the bag, "Jesus, don't you know a bomb when you see it, ya crazy woman?!"

A familiar scent. The rough feel of his stubble against her forehead as he held her protectively, like she were a child that had become lost in the dark. Her heart sobbed. Peter.

Olivia pressed the barrel of her nine millimeter under his chin, gritting her teeth bitterly.

Peter stilled. Slowly, he lifted his hands away from her shoulders, swallowing, "Okay. So you're mad. I understand that. But let's not be to terribly hasty, okay?"

"You're under arrest," Olivia said coldly, "Step away and keep your hands where I can see them."

"Listen, Olivia, I-"

"I suggest that you shut your trap, Mr. Bishop," she hissed, twisting the cold barrel against his throat as she stepped away from him, "hands up. Face the wall."

"I don't want to hurt you, Olivia," Peter said, raising his hands, "but you have to listen to me."

"Against the wall. Stop talking," Olivia demanded, her hands quaking slightly, as he looked into her eyes.

He batted the gun down, and Olivia stumbled backward, cursing, "_Listen _to me," Peter insisted, stepping forward, his palms still showing.

"Back off!" Olivia said, holding the gun against his chest and baring her teeth, "Back the hell off!"

"Stop it," he hissed, his face tight with anger, "Stop this cop shit. I'm not some thug, alright?"

"You're a criminal," Olivia answered acidly, "What makes you any different?"

"Yeah? Then shoot me. One in the heart, one in the head. Go for it." he watched her coldly, and she winced, her hand trembling as the rattled.

"You're under arrest," Olivia repeated.

"Why?"

"Because you're a fucking criminal!" Olivia snapped.

Peter snatched the gun away from her, slipping out the clip and ejecting the bullet in the chamber in one smooth action. He tossed them into the shadows, "Tell them I disarmed you," he said, moving away to turn.

"Peter!" Olivia cried, "Turn around or I'll kill you!"

He paused, then scratched the back of his neck, turning back to her, "Can I help you?"

"Why won't you kill me, then?!" She demanded, "Why not me?! I'm your enemy as much as you are mine!"

"Because I'm not your enemy," Peter said with a wistful smile. Olivia looked angry and confused, and he continued, "I'm not John. In so many ways, I'm not him."

"What do you mean? what are you talking about?"

"You're still chasing him. You don't see me as me, anymore. You loved John. He lied to you. You caught him. None of that has anything to do with me, and until you realize that, you're never going to catch me."

"Don't you dare bring him into this," Olivia said through gritted teeth, "Don't, Peter."

"Why not? You hated him, too."

"I loved John, and you're a bastard for even thinking that."

Peter moved back to Olivia in the dark, resting his arm over her head and he leaned over her, "So there's hope for me, then?" he questioned softly. Olivia stared up into his face, at a loss, "I'm not John, Olivia. There's no way in hell I'd ever do something like that to you."

"Then what's this?" Olivia questioned.

"This is me apologizing," Peter said, touching her hair, "something he never would have done."

Olivia swallowed, turning her face away as her eyes began to sting, "You're making a fool of me," she whispered, glaring into the dark, "I hate you."

Peter stilled, and touched her cheek to catch her tear, "Are you talking to him again?" Olivia did not answer, shivering with rage and sadness. Peter bit the inside of his cheek, "I'm sorry, Olivia. Even if you don't hate me, I do. But I can't stop, not now. Not when I'm so close to finishing it all…"

"Then you're just like him," Olivia said.

"I'm not. I've never lied to you; you knew I was like this-" Olivia brought a stinging slap across his face, and he did not flinch.

"Don't pull that shit!" Olivia sobbed, "People _change_, that's what makes them people! I thought you'd understand! I didn't think that you'd just twist me again-" Peter silenced her with a kiss.

"I do understand, Olivia," he said, gathering her close, "I understand, and I'm so, so sorry. It's not fair, I know."

"It isn't," she conceded into his collar, wadding his sweater in her trembling fists, "I love you, Peter."

He held her tighter, whispering his reply into her hair.

A gunshot rang from somewhere deep in the house, and Olivia reached for her empty holster. Her radio sounded with scratchy white noise, and she looked up to find he had disappeared. Olivia wiped her eyes on the back of her sleeve like a child.

xXx

_Gah, what a troublesome pair! *dies*_


	13. Chapter 13

Chapter XIII

All-nighters were the worst. There was nothing warm about the basement lab, at Harvard, which contained only cement and shining steel surfaces, and the long hours of darkness were filled with shivering and nearly complete silence. Every now and again a burst of Frank Sinatra lyrics would sound softly, and Astrid would pause in her typing only long enough to smile and shake her head, and then she would continue with her work. Tonight, it seemed, would turn out differently.

Walter loved horror films. Astrid, in turn, hated them. She still couldn't remember why she had agreed to watch the damn movie in the first place- she was a complete wimp, when it came to scary stuff.

They both sat on the sofa, in the middle of the damn night, watching _Invasion of the Body Snatchers_. After some time, Walter had discontinued watching the film, instead gauging her response to each episode of tension, finding her discomfort more entertaining than the feature. Every time she would squeak with surprise or terror, she would have to strike him on the arm for snickering, muttering bitterly, "Shut the hell up, it's scary."

Astrid wondered just what she felt she had to prove to Walter by seeming unafraid. And why it seemed like he was distracting her from her fear on purpose.

"I'm gonna get a soda from the snack machine," Astrid said at last, rummaging around for her jacket to avoid looking up at the gory, screaming depictions on the screen, "'You want anything, Walter?"

There was no reply, and Astrid looked over to see him, his elbow propped on the armrest to support his cheek as he slept quietly.

A smile glanced over her features, and she leaned forward to the coffee table to grab the remote and turn the movie off.

Walter woke suddenly, rubbing his eye groggily, "I was watching that."

"You were not."

"I was."

"Oh, yeah? Then who's the villain?" Astrid questioned with a smirk, "and you can't look at the case."

"Don't condescend to me, woman," Walter said, his animosity lost in his drowse, "it's those ugly little creatures that stick their tentacles in your nose and such."

"_You're_ an ugly little creature with tentacles," Astrid chuckled.

"Am not," Walter yawned, resting his cheek on his knuckles once more, "you're a…a…"and another yawn overtook him.

"A what?" Astrid questioned.

"A truly wonderful individual," he murmured, closing his eyes and smiling, "that, admittedly, seems to escape her appellation, in my own, ailing mind. But I am very fond of you, none the less."

"Aw," Astrid smiled, "thanks, Walter. That's really sweet." she leaned over to give him a small, warm hug. She paused, holding his shoulder, "Jeez, you're chilled."

"Low circulation," he explained, "An asset of age, I fear."

"Well, you're going to get sick, if you stay like this," Astrid said, rising, "Come on, take off your shoes and pull up your feet. Get them off the cold cement. Here," she pulled up the throw, wrapping it around him, "I'll get you some coffee, or something."

Walter only watched her, seeming bewildered that she would give a damn, "You're really cute, you know that?"

Astrid ignored him, heading off to the office. Shortly afterward, she returned, pushing the Styrofoam cup of hot beverage into his hands, "Go on and drink that. It should help."

"You're amazing," Walter admitted, sipping carefully. His eyebrows rose, "That's good."

"It's just Folgers," Astrid replied, returning to her seat and starting the movie again. A fresh scene of a screaming, pointing woman filled the lab with noise.

Walter waited until the shrieking had receded, "It was just a compliment." he set down the cup on the table, then settled back with a shiver.

Astrid watched him for a few moments, and he pretended not to notice, watching the movie with half shut eyes. "Alright," Astrid said at last, leaning forward to grab him, "come here."

"Hmm?" Walter questioned, slightly alarmed.

Astrid pulled him in, tucking the blanket around them both, "I'm warm. You can't be cold, like this."

"Ah, youth," he replied wearily.

"But your ears are warm," Astrid puzzled, tugging one of them.

xXx

"OW!" Walter yelped, facedown on the floor, "ow-ow-ow!"

"Shut up!" Astrid hissed, grinding her knee between his shoulder blades as she twisted his wrist, yanking the gun from his gloved fingers, "What the hell is wrong with you?! Who said you could use a gun?!"

"I wasn't going to shoot _you_!" Walter protested, wriggling against the cement, "I was _aiming_ for the interface!"

"Then don't point the damn thing at my face, jackass!" Astrid snapped.

"But I hit the interface!" Walter whined. He paused, and licked the cement curiously, then made a face.

Astrid shook her head, "I don't care what you hit. You made a big mistake coming here, Walter." She reached to her belt for her handcuffs.

"You're so _angry_," Walter grumbled, "besides, you can't go about arresting me just yet. I needed to talk to you, it's very important."

"Then save it for court," Astrid replied acidly.

"I should warn you that pain is a bit of a turn-on, for me," he sighed.

"Just shut up, Walter," Astrid glared down at her task of locking the cuffs around his wrists, but shifted her weight slightly on his shoulders, flushing lightly.

"You _flirted _with me," he teased in sing-song, grinning.

"Shut up! It was accidental flirting, damn it!" Astrid stammered.

"This building is about to explode," Walter said simply.

"What?!"

Walter suddenly wretched his arm from her grip, avoiding the handcuff as he twisted around, taking her over to pin her by the wrists to the floor, "Peter is setting explosives as we speak," he replied, slightly out of breath, "In a few minutes, this place will be cinders. What I need you to do, miss, is get everyone _out of here_."

Pain touched Astrid's features, escaping her hardened mask of authority, "Why, Walter? Why are you doing all of this?!"

Walter swallowed, seeming at a loss.

"Blowing up buildings? Shooting at people? Hacking into data bases?"

"I am rather impressive, aren't I?" Walter smiled weakly.

Astrid shook her head, "It's not you, Walter. This can't be you, doing all of this, it's too awful. But talking to you again, it's like you haven't changed at all. Were you like this all along?"

"Miss-"

"Don't look at me like that! I want to believe that you and Peter are innocent, but I know it's you!"

"It is. It is me. I have been like this all along," Walter replied quietly, "and now you can hate me. Does it make it easier, when I tell you that?" Astrid freed her hand and attempted to push him away. He caught her, forcing her down again, and his eyes narrowed, "You have to get out of here. You have to go upstairs, and tell them that you've found an explosive, and that they need to get out."

"And then what?!" Astrid demanded, tears welling in her eyes, "Just let you get away with the information?!"

A smile softened the sides of his face, "No, miss. I have every confidence that you will catch me."

"It can't be you," Astrid said, turning her face away, "I won't believe it."

"The word 'lie' resides in the heart of the word 'believe'," Walter answered softly, "So what you believe is simply the way you lie to yourself. You can simply pretend that _I _am _not _me." gently, he pressed a kiss to the side of her mouth, "but you don't have to _pretend _that I'm sorry." He released her, and got to his feet, moving to gather her laptop and stuff it into its case, slinging in over his shoulder.

Wiping her eyes, Astrid slowly rose, "Damn it, Walter."

"You don't have much time," he replied gruffly.

xXx


	14. Chapter 14

Chapter XIV

The barren rose brambles found Walter, waiting outside the back door as Peter dropped from the window, seeking cover behind the shrubs. Walter only watched him, frowning flatly, "You look like a moron," he said, "They've cleared out, via bomb threat."

"I didn't want to get shot, jackass," Peter grumbled, rising and dusting himself, "did you get the information?" and Walter patted the laptop case at his side. Peter considered his gloomy disposition for a few moments, "…are you okay?"

"I'm not too terribly happy with myself right now, boy, and you don't look too sunny yourself. How's Olivia?"

Peter sighed, "Pissed."

"Hmm. Woman are such unreasonable creatures. Shall we?"

"Yeah." They strode off, toward the black iron gate onto the back street, "There's no one to see us of…?"

"Need I repeat the imminent threat of explosives?" Walter said, sounding slightly vexed. He stuffed his hands into the pockets of his tactical fatigues, glaring up at the rain as if it were mocking him, and rebelliously ignoring the rivulet that ran down his temple, "Jesus, boy, offer me the menial courtesy of _listening ,_ when I speak."

Peter was silent for a few moments, before gathering his thoughts to realize the source of his fathers' fuming, "…How's Astrid?"

"Pissed."

Before he could stop it, a disheartened smile twitched over Peter's face, and he asked, "Did you forget her name again?"

Walter bared his teeth slightly, glaring at his son in complete contempt.

"Okay, okay, I'm sorry, that was tasteless. I know how all of this is, Walter- it sucks."

Walter stopped, and Peter slowed to a halt, looking back at him, "You didn't see her, Peter," Walter shook his head, water dripping from his hair, now nearly black in the downpour, "The way that she was, everything… I nearly gave up right there. God damn it, she was _crying_. I made her…" Walter covered his own eyes with his fingertips, his voice breaking slightly, "I wish she'd killed me."

Peter swallowed, answering softly, "I know, Walter. I know."

"They hate us, boy."

"We knew that this would happen when we started, Walter."

"I didn't think…that she would care… did you…?"

Peter stepped to his father, gently draping an arm over his trembling shoulders, "Come on, Walter. Let's get out of here, and I'll buy you a beer."

"We don't deserve to be caught! We deserve to get away with all of it, and let them go on hating us forever!" Walter cried, his fists balled and shaking at his sides.

Peter found himself lifting his other arm, his hands meeting around Walter's tensed and trembling form in a hug, "I know," he repeated in a hoarse whisper. His father had voiced everything Peter felt, and for once they were on the same level; self hatred.

"_Can _people change, boy? Or have we always been such bastards?" Walter asked into Peter's collar.

"I don't know, Walter. But, once a thief… always a thief."

xXx

The entire house seemed to jump and bulge, as the charges erupted in bright, silent flashes. The woodwork seemed to strip itself away from the house like a zipper being split apart. A rumble rapidly filled the air, and the sharp crack of windows shattering as bright flames erupted from them. The ancient manor was soon ablaze, the fire rushing away the dark in a tide of light that made the rain sparkle as it fell.

"Fire department?" An agent asked, and Charlie nodded.

"Yeah, you'd better get them down here. Not that this downpour won't put it out in ten minutes. Keep everyone clear of the area, we don't know if…" his thoughts were stilled as he saw Olivia's slumped form on the hood of a cruiser, "Yeah, go call 'em," he finished quickly, hurrying over toward his comrade.

"'Liv?" he questioned, keeping his distance. He knew better than to touch her, in such a state, "Are you alright, Olivia?" he asked gently.

"No, Charlie," Olivia answered quietly, staring down at her folded hands in her lap, "I'm going crazy."

"You saw Peter?" Charlie asked softly, taking a seat next to her. She did not reply, "Don't worry, 'Liv. We'll get them-"

"We won't get them, Charlie," Olivia said.

Charlie felt anger twinge him, and he bit it back, "I don't care what he said to you, 'Liv. He's got no chance against you, and he knows it. The Bishops won't get away with it."

"He doesn't want to get away," Olivia said, he voice calm. But as she looked up at the blazing house, he could see her pain, creasing her flawless face with sorrow, and it struck him like a needle to the heart, "don't you get it? They want us to catch them, Charlie."

"Every criminal does," Charlie agreed, "It's why they do it, really. For the recognition, the admiration."

"You _have _to admire them. _Look_ at this, for chrissake," she raised her hand to the burning structure, "they're gutsy."

Charlie swallowed. Olivia loved Peter, and he knew it, in the same way he had known she had loved John. And, again, he wanted to stop her, to avert her from her path of self destruction, to keep her from her fatal attraction to things that would, ultimately, hurt her so badly. But he could not. What made Olivia beautiful to him was the way she could take the shot and get back up again. She was such a soldier. "Kid, let's get out of here. There's nothing going."

"Where's Astrid?"

"In the car. Not doing much better than you are, I think. She's the one who told us about the bombs, you know. That could have been us in there, if it weren't for her."

"Huh."

"Let's go, 'Liv."

But Olivia did not rise from her seat in the rain, "Peter… he said that he couldn't stop. That he was close to 'finishing it all'…"

"Of course. He just got the rest of the information. He's going to sell it and move on to other things," Charlie said patiently.

"But he said 'finish'," Olivia repeated, standing. She began to pace, "That's not something a repeating criminal would say, is it? No. No, the way he said it, it was like this hasn't been a bunch of random heists, that they're all just one _huge _one. That they're all just parts of…"

"Parts of what?" Charlie pressed,

"…Parts of _something_. I don't know. But if they're all the parts of just one thing, then he's not doing it because he _can_, he's doing it…because he _has _to," she looked up at Charlie, a familiar, sharp smile on her face, a glimmer of brilliance behind her grief-clouded eyes, "He's working for someone."

xXx

There was no sleep, that night.

The lights in the office of Olivia Dunham did not quit when so many others had, as she, Charlie, and Astrid worked tirelessly, files shuffling, an exclamation of realization, and sometimes a curse of defeat ringing in the empty, temperature-controlled air that tasted like the water in the half-filled Hygeia dispenser in the dark hall.

The dead boy was their key.

"This Raze guy- there's no record of him in the juvenile files," Olivia said, and Astrid leaned over the keyboard, sighing with slight impatience.

"Of course there wouldn't be, he designed the system."

"Convenient," Charlie frowned, "so what's he hiding?"

"Well…" Astrid pulled up a dusty file, and Olivia rolled her eyes as she spotted the familiar, sprawling hand script, and a stick figure beside a very square house with a puffy clouds rising from it's chimney, "This turned up in one of Walter's old files from the lab. Have you ever heard of a cellist by the name of Georges Von Thürer?"

"Oh, _Absolutely_. I'm such a _huge _cello fan, how could I _not_?" Charlie answered with sarcastic enthusiasm, "Can you just get on with this?"

"Well, apparently Walter did. And so did his partner, Bell," Astrid let the ancient, black-and-white newspaper clippings flutter to the desktop, and Charlie and Olivia watched over them, observing the pictures of a small, sickly-looking boy taking a bow beside his tall, dark instrument, "He was a music prodigy, but had a rare and fatal aging disease. Naturally, weird stuff draws Walter like a moth to flame… but anyways, he and Bell- it gets a little lingo-esk, here, but- apparently, they were trying to use something called the _Methuselah_ to reverse the affects of Von Thürer's genetic aging."

"Did it work?" Olivia asked, translating the German headlines in her mind- _Von Th__ü__rer Family At Risk of Loosing Genius Scion_.

"Negative. Georges was reported to have died just short of his twelfth birthday," Astrid answered. She let a color photograph of the diseased Raze fall beside the old photograph of Georges, "and bam. One and the same."

Charlie gaped, "That's impossible. He'd be over fifty, by now."

Olivia and Astrid both looked up at him, "Imagine the impossible," Olivia said seriously, "that's what Walter _does_."

"It appears that the _Methuselah _ worked," Astrid finished, "Georges has been living as Raze ever since."

"What does this have to do with the Bishops now?" Charlie asked.

"Raze was killed in the opera house the same night that Peter and Walter attended to watch his performance," Olivia said, "They were working for _him._"

"But now he's dead," Charlie said, "Why wouldn't they just quit and run?"

"A guy like Raze, he's pretty powerful, in the underground. He's hella good with computers- he was around when the internet was _invented_, why wouldn't he be? Someone with a family like Von Thürer would have a lot of pull anyway, so doubtless he's got denizens. What we need to do is get a hold of someone who knew about the deal Raze had going with Peter and Walter."

"Like who?" Astrid asked.

Olivia bit on the earpiece of her glasses "Damn it, I don't know. But you said he designed the system for the FBI. There's got to be something about him _somewhere_. Find that, and we've got something."

Many, many miles away, Peter and Walter sat in the welcoming shelter of a bar booth, and both said nothing to one another as they mechanically sipped from their longnecks. Every now and again, a rather intoxicated passerby would pause to ask if they were cops, given Walter's stolen uniform. Peter would only shake his head, and Walter would add, "We're actors," to satisfy them enough to leave. Silence would find them once more.

Peter was a little surprised. His father did not tend to drink, as he explained that alcohol affected him in the form of night terrors. But tonight, they both knew that there would be no room for sleep, in their thoughts.

"Guess _what_?" Walter announced, and Peter looked up. His father fixed him with a hollow smile, rising, "I have to pee," and he shuffled off.

Peter ordered another beer for himself and Walter as a waitress passed. His eyes strayed to the pool table for what could have been any amount of time, before his father returned, smoothing the long sleeves of his combat jacket over his gloves. Peter frowned, "Why don't you take those off, Rambo?"

"No, they're fun. Who's Rambo?"

Peter chuckled, shaking his head as he got to his feet with his beer, an handing Walter his full one, "Come on, let me show you how to shark at pool."

"There's no need to cheat, boy. I'll win anyways," Walter smiled, raising a brow as he followed after him.

Thirty minutes later, Peter was slapping a twenty dollar bill into Walter's upraised, padded palm, hissing a curse. Walter only smiled, leaning on his chipped-up, slightly bent cue. Peter chalked the nib of his own cue, and set to re-stacking the rack, muttering, "Best out of five…"

"Peter?" Walter asked, and his son looked up, bitterly expecting another mockery of his playing, Walter looked thoughtful, "Do you think this is all going to work out, for us?"

"You're the one with my money, Walter. It looks like it's working out fine, for you."

"I've already explained that my wages as a professor were quite paltry. And I don't mean this. I mean…_all of this_. Do you think it will be alright?"

Peter sighed. After a few moments, he smiled, "Yes, Walter. You'll see." he leaned over his cue, concentrating, "I break."

"That won't give you an edge," Walter answered, "You have to quit trying to _cheat_ it out. _Play_, Peter, you're bright enough. _Calculate_ the shot…"

xXx


	15. Chapter 15

Chapter XV

Olivia was waiting for Astrid as she pulled her car into the FBI parking structure. Astrid saw that she watched her, as she shut off her engine, and obligingly kicked her door open for conversing as she gathered her things, cramming them into her bag, "Where are we going, Olivia," she muttered as Olivia smiled, leaning over to rest her elbow on the doorframe as she stooped to look in.

"license and registration, ma'am. Your car is a mess."

"I haven't exactly had time to clean it," Astrid replied, "So what's up? I know you're on to something, I've seen that kitty-cat grin before. Where's Charlie?"

"He got held up, some idiot that claims that his motorcycle was stolen at the opera house the night of Raze's murder. Did you know that little bastard was into narcotics' trading?" Olivia stepped back as Astrid emerged, flinging her scarf over her shoulder and shutting the door of her Toyota.

"Kids, these days."

"I know, right? Anyways, we've got to take a little trip over to a club of his. Seems that not only did he design the system for the FBI, he traded information, as well. To the government, I mean," Olivia stepped into the elevator with Astrid, and took the liberty of selecting the ground floor, where she had her car waiting, "He had a bodyguard, some guy named Edgar. Edgar did all of the dealings with the authorities, and was very appraised of the goings-on of our little vampire boy."

"Vampire?" Astrid questioned.

"What would _you _call him?"

"A freak, maybe. But go on. Edgars' got something to tell us…?"

"Yes. He said he can help us out, now that Raze is gone. He said something about obligations he had to Raze, something like that. He said he'll meet us at a club called 'Glass'. Ever heard of it?" Olivia lead the way as the elevator opened to the bright morning sunshine.

"There could be a dozen clubs in Massachusetts with that name," Astrid said flatly, "They've all got fruity names, like that."

"This one won't be too terribly hard to find. It's in the FBI's 'blind spot', if you will," Olivia explained as she chirruped the alarm, opening the driver's door of the loner cruiser, "It's a selection of shady businesses that we purposely avoid cracking down on, so we can use them to funnel information."

"Did you get the cruiser with the good heater?" Astrid asked as she got in.

"Yeah. But the more I look at this, the weirder it seems," Olivia said frankly, stilling in her motions of starting the engine to turn to Astrid, "I mean, Raze was a criminal. And the system has no record of him being a squealer, nor does he seem to be the type to be ignorant of Edgar's spying. Which can only lead me to conclude that Raze knew just how big his leak was, but had no intention of stopping it. Why?"

Astrid considered, "Maybe… he knew that he was being left alone simply because of the information his organization gathered, and didn't want to make the mistake of taking a fall simply to plug a tiny trickle of petty goings-ons."

"More gain that loss. Simple economics. But wouldn't taking Raze down mean ending half of the crap that goes down anyways?"

Astrid shrugged, "He had to have had a stronger support line than just helping the G-men and having a rich family, then."

xXx

Walter lay on his side, his arms circling his middle, "I feel sick again, Peter," he murmured.

"You've got to try to keep something on your stomach," Peter replied, "just try to think about something else."

"Regardless of my alternate thought patterns, I still feel sick," Walter answered, squeezing his interlaced hands between his knees in distress, "I don't like waiting. It makes me sick."

"It's only been a week, Walter. You've got to try, you can't keep loosing weight like this," Peter typed away on the laptop, watching his father's curled form on the bed. It had taken him two days to gather the energy to view over the files they had apprehended, and they had switched hotels again, "hey. Is there something you want? Anything you want to eat, that might stay?"

Walter shook his head. He looked up at Peter, his eyes glassy, "…I'm scared, Peter."

Peter shut the laptop with a sigh, rubbing his eyes, "Don't be scared, Walter. Tomorrow, this'll all be over. We can disappear. We won't have to do this anymore."

"But that's just it," Walter said softly, tracing the pattern on the bedspread with his fingertip, "If we're running or planning or doing something, I'm fine. But tomorrow, it ends, and there'll be no more of it. We're just waiting." he shivered slightly.

Peter smirked, "You're sorry it's over?" he asked.

"No. Well, maybe. But this just ends it, and nothing can go back… I guess I was just hoping that they _would_ catch us, even if… is that terrible?"

"Nah. You should always root for the good guys," Peter replied, standing and dusting the front of his jeans, "Come on, get up. Let's catch a movie, shall we?"

"But we can't go out," Walter said, bewildered, "We're _criminals_, Peter."

"Yep. Now let's go do what criminals do; spend a ridiculous amount of money on everything we don't need," he offered Walter his hand with a smile, "trust me, I know."

Walter frowned up at him, "You're asking me to go _shopping _with you, boy?"

"Yeah. We'll get our nails done and everything, it'll be delirious. Up."

Walter took Peter's hand, sitting up, "What are we going to buy, if I feel like regurgitating everything ?"

"To whatever degree of our budget goes into your stomach, I'd say anything you could ever possibly want," Peter answered, pulling on his own coat, "You still wanted that pocket watch, right?"

"Throw me my coat, boy. I'll race you to the car."

xXx

Neither of them spoke. Both of their minds were racing, in the silence, on two entirely different levels. Olivia thought of how careful she would have to be, with this. Astrid was cynical of who they told about what they had just learned, "We can't tell them about this Olivia," Astrid said at last, breaking the silence of the drive, "They'll kill them."

Olivia nodded. That had not been on her mind, but it made sense, "We'll get them ourselves. With this… it's like shooting fish in a barrel."

"I guess so."

The club Glass was closed. Apparently, it had been since Raze's death. A sickening sign of mourning in the form of a black wreath hung on the door, just above the 'condemned' sign. Olivia and Astrid ignored them both as they broke an entering into the vacant club.

They shivered in the chill as their breath fogged the air, and they looked back and fourth cautiously. At last, Olivia raised her voice, softly calling "Mr. Gregory?"

There was a faint shifting, and a huge man emerged from behind the long bar isle. A gun rested on the glossy surface of the counter, and his face was grim behind dark sunglasses, "Dunham?" he questioned gruffly.

Olivia smoothly popped the snap on her holster coolly, "That's me. You said you had something to tell us, Mr. Gregory?"

He nodded to Astrid, "Who's this?"

"Astrid Farnsworth. Her partner," Astrid replied calmly.

"Don't pull that normal cop crap. I'm not stupid. Raze knew about you- you're anything _but _normal, aren't you, Agent Dunham?" He lightly pushed the gun away from him, and it skidded away on the bar, "So you're after the Bishops."

"You said you knew something, Edgar. We know that you were Raze's leak, that you were working for us."

"I still do," Edgar agreed, "But I'm a little out of work, for now. I was Raze's confidant for a great many years, Dunham, and there was very little going on that I didn't know about. I knew about his disease, I knew about his connections, and I knew about how he designed the systems for both the FBI and Massive Dynamic. I probably knew more about him than anyone- did Peter Bishop know as much about you, agent Dunham?"

Olivia recoiled slightly, "Massive Dynamic? But the Bishops stole that information. If he had designed the system, why didn't he just get it himself?"

"Even if I knew a lot, there was still things I didn't know. The fate of Massive Dynamic and Nina Sharpe aren't my concern anymore. But… your boys killed Georges. Perhaps not directly, but they caused it. Raze knew that he was going to die, or he wouldn't have stepped out onto that stage that night. Something the Bishops did killed him," Edgar took a few steps to tower over Olivia, his expression lost behind his black frames, "and I want to know what it was."

A dark smirk curved Olivia's lips, "So this is revenge, Mr. Gregory?"

"Absolutely."

Astrid placed a hand on Olivia's shoulder, grinning up at the tall Edgar, "Then we're on the same boat, then. Tell us what you can, Edgar- we'll see to it that you get answers."

Olivia looked over at Astrid, complete shock on her face, "You have the address and time, right?"

Astrid, holding up the folded bit of napkin, "Why?"

"For the first time in my life, I've forgotten the numbers completely," Olivia frowned.

Astrid was silent for a few moments, "…Wishful thinking?" she mused at last.

"Maybe. I don't know."

xXx


	16. Chapter 16

FINAL CHAPTER.

"Okay. Are you ready?"

"Are we ever ready, son?" Walter smiled wryly.

Peter chuckled softly, "I guess you're right. Grab the case." Walter hefted the briefcase from his lap, and Peter leaned over to take it from him, "Listen, just try not to say anything, and you won't get shot-" he paused, his eyes widening.

Walter watched him, alarmed and puzzled, "Peter?" Peter lifted his hand away from the seat, melted chocolate stuck to his palm. He glared up at Walter, who swallowed with dread, "it-it's just a car, Peter…" he attempted weakly.

Peter punched him in the face sharply, and his father yelped, covering his nose, "Anyways," Peter continued, rubbing away the chocolate with his handkerchief, "stick next to me for this, and you'll come out of this alright." he kicked open his door.

"Right, right, I deserved that," Walter dabbed away the blood escaping one of his nostrils, and stepped out of the car, following after his son.

The parking structure was deserted, it had been for a great many years. Illegible spray-paint signatures littered the tall, broad cement pillars, their visibility poor with time and the dim grey of daybreak. It was cold, and their breath fogged in the chill, "I told you we should have gotten three-pieces," Walter grumbled, stuffing his hands into the pockets of his black slacks.

"No one wears three-pieces anymore, Walter. Shut up."

"A pity, too. Sharp-looking suit, a three-piece. I got married in a three piece."

"Wonderful. Now shut up, I hear someone coming," they came to a halt, standing back-to-back, watching the pillars cautiously. Peter's hand tightened on the briefcase, his breath slow as he thought of the gun strapped against his abdomen, under his blazer. How many seconds would it take to draw, he wondered? Dropping the case, diving into his jacket for his firearm in a bolt for cover… if the individual shooting was any sort of accurate, the odds were not in his favor.

No shots rang out in the parking structure, and there was no feel of burning lead striking his body. Peter did not move, his shoulders touching with Walter's. They waited.

"Mr. Bishop, Dr. Bishop," came a soft call. Peter looked up, as Nina Sharpe stepped out toward them, her arms away from her body to show that she hid nothing, "I'm not armed."

"Stay there," Peter said calmly, "don't move, or we won't hesitate to kill you."

Walter elbowed him sharply, "_Manners_, boy," he growled, "You have better blood than to treat a lady like that."

Fighting back his urge to shoot his father in the back of the head, Peter gave Nina a pained smile, "_Please_ stand there, or we _may have _to shoot you."

"See, now was that so hard? You certainly haven't been to charm school, have you?"

Nina hid a smile as Peter bit the inside of his cheek angrily, "You have the systems files disks?" she questioned. She tightened her black leather gloves, "…All of them?"

"Yes," Peter answered.

"Then why are we waiting?"

"Broyals has to be here for conformation, Miss Sharpe, you know that."

"I see him!" Walter exclaimed, and he waved, as Broyals approached. Walter frowned, raising his gun, "I'm terribly sorry, but you're going to have to stay where you are, for now. If not… well, I think you know…"

Philip Broyals frowned, looking back and fourth to the Bishops and Nina Sharpe, "What's going on here, Nina?"

"We were waiting for you, Philip," she replied patiently, "for conformation."

Broyals nodded, replying cynically, "Of course. How thoughtful of you."

"It was my idea!" Walter chirruped, "But it was Peter's, to get us arrested."

"What?!" Nina and Broyals demanded in unison.

Peter and Walter grinned at each other as sirens sounded, a black FBI cruiser screeching into the empty garage, "This isn't what we agreed on," Broyals said, stepping back, "This wasn't the plan, Bishop."

Olivia and Astrid emerged from the car, guns at the ready as they fell into position from cover, "Freeze!" Olivia cried, "Walter! Drop the gun!"

"New plan," Peter mused, drawing his gun to drop it onto the ground , and Walter placed his own at his feet, "I understand why you felt you had to do this, Agent Broyals. If no company had any information, the pattern couldn't possibly continue. Whoever was controlling it would have to start from scratch, without any of Walter's work to base from. So it all had to go- even Massive Dynamic, so conveniently controlled by William Bell."

Olivia blinked in disbelief, "Sir…?" she questioned. He did not offer an answer, his jaw tightening.

"And I understand you, Miss Sharpe- if you had all of the information, there would be no competition, and the pattern would end, because _you_ would control it. Using Raze to funnel information was clever, but you really shouldn't have killed him. He knew all along, he _loved _you, for chrissake. So both of you hired Walter and I to achieve the same end- the demise of the Pattern." Peter glanced at Olivia and Astrid, hoping desperately that his words were having an affect. Olivia's breath only fogged in the morning air, as she held her sight on him.

"Spoken like Shakespeare, my boy," Walter said proudly, "Encore, encore!"

"We did what you told us. We cut ties with the FBI, went rouge. We stole from Massive Dynamic, to clear you of suspicions. But we got something far more valuable from Raze than you did. While you had concluded that we had not managed to acquire all of your system, what you _didn't _suspect was where the last bit had gone. Raze had gone to retrieve it behind your back when he had rebuilt your system, and curiously found it missing. He quickly found that it had been obtained by Astrid, who had cleared the rest of the system afterward." Peter smiled at the chagrinned Astrid as Nina stared. But it was working. At last, the truth. Olivia remained unreadable.

"We… sort of… planted… the address, Agent Dunham," Walter said apologetically, "We had to reacquire the information and destroy any other copies, but Peter insisted that he needed to drop you a hint of where the exchange would be, so you could catch us. I always knew you would ,by the way. Peter thought we could pull it off, but I know you're much smarter than he is…"

"Anyways," Peter continued struggling to repair his damage with his words, "We swapped the note Nina gave Astrid. You were at the Shaw's, and- well, anyways, having the pinpoint location, we replaced the address with one of our choosing- a _second bank _for Massive Dynamic."

Broyals looked up at Nina, "And yet you failed to mention that, Nina," he said quietly.

"The second address I gave Raze," Nina replied, "I never trusted him."

"Perhaps you should have, and things would have turned out differently," Walter reprimanded, and she fell silent.

"The second bank was old, but it still had to go. Knowing that Broyals would have to confirm with Sharpe, we hit the current base and stripped it. Then, we just had to wait for you."

"If you stripped the other base, why did you blow up the mansion?" Olivia questioned. Peter opened his mouth to answer when he was interrupted

"Peter needed collateral. If Olivia wouldn't let him go, he'd threaten," Walter said smugly.

"_Why_ are you trying to make me look bad?!" Peter demanded.

"You punched me in the face. I don't exactly _like _you, right now."

"But _you _ended up using it," Astrid said.

"I did. But, rather than threatening you with a moral dilemma, I merely appealed to your better, caring nature. Peter really does underestimate you, Olivia. He's a looser. Don't date him."

"_Dude!_"

"It was a peanut M'n'M, Peter. _A peanut M'n'M._"

"Finish or I'll shoot you!" Olivia snapped. At last a reaction. It was falling into place, everything she had dared, in the back of her heart, to hope.

"So we talked to Edgar. We'd pissed him off enough for him to want us caught, regardless of how it implicated him, in it all. He wasn't careful like Raze had been. He dropped you the exchange date, time, all that.. You got here. Now you know what's been going on," Peter said. He raised the briefcase, "You know what this has in it." his eyes locked with hers, "What should I do with it, Olivia? The entire Pattern is right here, in my hands. Do you want it?"

Olivia looked taken aback, and only stared.

"We had a deal, Broyals," Nina warned.

Broyals ignored her, watching Olivia.

"I don't want it," Olivia said at last, "I don't want anything to do with it." she lowered her gun, "Peter… Walter…"

Walter smiled, and Peter only continued to watch, his face a mosaic of emotions, all unrecognizable.

"…Destroy it," she finished.

"Yaay!" Walter yipped, fairly hopping up and down, "Burn it! Let's burn it!"

"You and burning things," Peter grumbled.

"Broyals," Nina repeated, an undertone of panic in her voice.

"This is what we wanted, Nina. The Pattern ends here, regardless of how it is achieved," a small smile broke across his face, and he turned away, "Good work, boys."

Nina retained her composure, swallowing, "Very well. So it ends, that's what matters. You just be careful, Bishop," she said quietly, " You've completed your task, with amnesty. I applaud you. But I warn you… if anything might surface indicting Massive Dynamic in any of this, I'll know where to go." And she strode away in the growing dawn.

"Tulips and lies…" Walter murmured.

Peter had opened the case on the ground, pouring on the last of the lighter fluid. They stepped back, as Astrid and Olivia came to stand beside them. Peter paused as he held the matches, and turned to his father, holding them out. Walter looked confused, "Go on," Peter said gruffly.

"Wait, we're trusting me with fire, now…?"

"You started this, Walter," Olivia explained, glancing at Peter. Even after all that had happened, she still knew what he meant to say, "It's time for you to end it."

"All of it," Astrid interjected, and they looked up at her. She held single floppy disk in her fingertips, "aren't you missing something?"

Walter swallowed. Gingerly, he held out his hand, "May… may I have that disk, miss?"

"What's my name?" she questioned, raising a brow.

Walter's eyes widened with horror. He looked back and fourth in panic, and Peter and Olivia offered nothing. "…I don't know," he answered at last, shamefaced.

Astrid smiled, reaching out to take his hand, "_That's_ you, Walter," she murmured, stepping forward to toss the disk onto the pile.

Flushed slightly, Walter flicked the match to life with his thumbnail. He watched it for a few moments, "All of it… ends," he said softly, his brows furrowing in a look of pain.

"But you don't," Peter replied, "we don't. the world doesn't. We can _live_ now, Walter."

Astrid gently squeezed Walter's hand as he continued to glare at the tiny flame. At last it burned his fingertips, and he exclaimed, dropping it onto the disks. The pyre flared up, and he stepped back, his eyes round with awe. Then, a wide grin spread across his face, and he let out a whooping cry of glee.

Peter found himself echoing his father's smile, turning to Olivia. His smile immediately faded, "…I lied to you," he said quietly.

Olivia did not look at him, and the flames only reflected in her emerald irises.

"You were right. I'm just like him."

"You're not," Olivia replied. At last she looked up at him, "You two are nothing alike. I know that, now."

"Why?" Peter asked at last, "how do you know?"

"Because you're stupid. John didn't tell me anything because he thought I wouldn't understand. You didn't tell me anything because you were scared that I would."

Peter swallowed. The truth slightly offended him, and he offered only silence. He exclaimed with surprise when Olivia pulled him in for a kiss, "nice suit," she murmured, straitening his lapels.

"Thanks," Peter replied, draping his arms around her waist. He wondered if she could feel his heart hammering in his chest.

"Don't you ever do crap like this ever again," she said without looking at him, "I'm not stupid, Peter. But you make me feel like it, sometimes. You have to tell me the truth. I can't take any more lies. Never lie to me again, understand?"

"I don't think the situation will present itself," he replied with a smile, stooping to kiss her again. Things would never go back to the way they had been, but life had somehow gotten inexplicably better.

"BIGGER, HA HA! Throw something else on! I want to watch it burn!" Walter was nearly dancing around the small bonfire, his eyes aflame as they welled with joy and he roared, "_Feed _my creation!"

"Walter, calm down!" Astrid laughed.

" Peter! Let's burn the Viper! I _hate _that fucking car!"

xXx

END.

_*rubs hands together* Well, that finished up nicely. And just shy of the next installment of Fringe, I see. Now, off too see how the _real_ writers do it…_

_~F_


End file.
